


A light from another room.

by jennajuicebox



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 99,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennajuicebox/pseuds/jennajuicebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panem AU. </p><p>“He tells me he loves me, and it makes me sick.” I say, my voice not sounding like my own. The memory of Cray whispering to me in the dark makes my already rocky stomach roll. I swallow a gag.</p><p>	“He doesn't know love.” Peeta says and I think its suppose to sound hard, but his voice sounds sad, like he might cry. </p><p>	“He wants your love, but will settle for your fear.” He adds in a pathetic whisper, his hand running through my hair, and I find myself leaning into his hand. </p><p>	“He's trying to take what I love most about you.” His eyes are so blue against the hazy light of morning. I find that my head winds its way into his lap, he makes a soft noise from the back of his throat as his fingers thread through my tangled braid, brushing my scalp. I am humming with a weird, wiry energy. Peeta has a way of doing this to me</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Authors note: Trigger warning for forced prostitution and rape, proceed with caution.

Its a bitter cold November day, I stumble along a path Gale and I have worn into the golden, knee high grass that leads toward the woods and I can't help but wrap my spindly arms around my middle in a vain attempt to keep my warmth in. My fathers hunting jacket does little to keep the biting wind from creeping into my bones and making them cold and brittle, I feel like I will shatter at the slightest touch. 

Its been a lean few weeks, with the rare warm winter we had last year accompanied by a hot, dry summer has left our woods barren as animals search out food and water elsewhere. I pause once I enter the safety of the old pines to catch my breath, taking in deep lungfuls of clean, sweet fall air. The fresh breeze catches in my lungs, forcing out a hacking cough that has been plaguing me for weeks. I double over as I sputter and struggle for air. I hear an annoyed groan as Gale steps out into eyesight from behind a tree.

“You okay Catnip?” he asks in a concerned voice. I'm still fighting to get a deep breath, but I wave him off. Once I catch my breath I remove a flask from my hip and take a small sip of the whiskey, honey and lemon concoction my mother had made me last night.

“I'll be fine, just a lingering cold.” I assure him with a lopsided smile.

“Better be, you're scaring off all the game.” he quips, but I can tell he has the weight of worry in his gray eyes.

“Like there's any left to scare away.” I comment, leaning to examine the mud at my feet for tracks. After a moment of prodding I stand, straightening my quiver onto my shoulder. I let out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes. 

“Should we try the western edge of the woods today?” he asks examining the horizon with hooded eyes. I want to tell him that while he was deep in the mines yesterday, I was scouring the western woods with no luck. The day before I brought home one scraggly pheasant from the eastern edge. 

 

“I guess it couldn't hurt to try.” I get out lamely, rubbing my hands together in a vain attempt to keep them warm. Gale steps forward and rubs his hands down the length of my arms, I immediately stiffen at his touch, if he notices he says nothing. He drops his arms back down and tightens his hold on his bow. After a moment of warring with himself he starts to speak

“We're wasting daylight.” I cut him off quickly, taking a few shaky steps ahead of him and moving through the bracken and mud, my socks already soaked through with cold. He lets out a huff but follows behind me, his boots scarcely making a sound on the long dead pine needles beneath our feet.

After three hours we retreat back towards the meadow, my empty game bag weighing heavy against my hip. I shove a fistful of pine in my mouth to chew and wonder in an offhand way if I will make it to see my twentieth birthday. 

Just as we enter the meadow I catch a blur of blue-gray fur, in an instant my arrow is stuck in the eye of a scraggly squirrel.

“Hot damn Catnip, that was quite the shot.” Gale says clapping his hand against my back, but deep in my gut all I feel is cold dread. This squirrel is thin and its coat is lackluster and bald in patches, despite the biting wind. 

“Its going to be a long winter.” I whisper, lifting the animal by the tail for him to examine. His lips purse together in a tight line, he runs his hand through his shaggy, dark hair that falls straight back into his eyes.

“I imagine it will.” he whispers back in a deadpan voice. 

We make our way through town, Gale slipping past me toward the hob, I don't follow him, it isn't like I have anything to trade anyway. People seem to move out of my way on their own accord. I stand with a ramrod posture my head held high as I move down the wooden walkway that lines the storefronts. Cringe like a dog, my father would say to me People will treat you like one. It was so long ago I can barely remember his voice, it was long before he was blown to bits in the mines. 

I make my way down the alley that shoots between the bakery and Shoe shop, coming out near the apple tree in the bakers back yard. The air is heavy with the smell of rain and I have to bite back bile as I remember a day not so unlike this one when I was rooting through garbage bins. I try not to remember the feeling of hot, charred bread against the flesh of my stomach.

The backdoor is wide open and through the screen door I can see the Baker's wife isn't around, just the boys and their father, kneading dough, their laughter echoing through the empty street. 

The smell of baking bread is almost enough to gag me and my stomach gnaws unhappily as I step onto the porch. “Good afternoon Katniss.” a voice startles me and I jump nearly out of my skin. Its the youngest, his eyes regarding me steadily, his hands have a book stuck between them as he rocks back and forth on an old porch swing that looks like it wouldn't hold my weight let alone his. I focus on the peeling, white paint on the floorboards, anything but those cornflower blue eyes.

“How do you know my name?” I ask between short breaths. Cursing myself for such a rude greeting. Really Katniss? I think to myself How hard is a simple hello? 

If he thinks its rude he doesn't show it, he gives a short chuckle. Shutting the book and setting it aside on his knee. “I've overheard it in passing, I suppose.” He runs a hand through his ash blonde curls. “I'm Peeta.” he offers, holding out a hand to shake.

“I know.” I say, startling myself with such a declaration. It seems to please him, because he smiles and my breath seems to catch in my chest. I think it might be because his teeth are so white and straight or because his cheeks have this rosy glow but before I can get out another breath I am doubled over coughing into my elbow. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with concern and I wave him off, just like I did Gale early this morning. He moves the book and stands with his arms out in front of him awkwardly. I finally catch my breath and see that Mr Mellark has come to stand in the doorway, his face echoing the same concerned look that his son wears now.

“That's quite a cough, Miss Everdeen.” His eyebrows are furrowed together and he rubs a hand over his nearly bald head.

“Its been going around.” I shrug and pull the squirrel from my bag, feeling embarrassed at its appearance. 

“It isn't enough for a whole loaf, but I thought maybe a few rolls?” I try to hide the desperation in my voice. Its been days since we've eaten proper and Prim needs something more than katniss tubers and pine to chew. 

He is looking past the squirrel at me with a hard expression on his face. I begin to tuck the squirrel back into my bag, cursing myself for offending him with this sad sack of fur. “You eating enough, girl?” I can feel Peeta's eyes on me as well as his fathers. I feel like an exposed nerve, open and raw.

“I eat fine.” I snap and turn to leave.

“Now hold on, you going to take my squirrel with you?” The baker asks with a small smile. “Peeta, why don't you bring her inside, I believe Bannock made some tea-”

“No.” I almost shout, taking a step back down the porch steps. “I can wait here.” I say in a more polite tone. 

“Well, Peeta why don't you keep her company out here then?” I swear the Baker winks at his son as he moves back towards the kitchen. 

After Mr Mellark is out of earshot Peeta turns toward me, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Sorry about my dad.” he says in a small voice. I take a step away from the bakery and the smell of fresh bread that is choking me . I think he thinks its him, because he stays quiet, his hands shoved into his pocket.

I eye the book he discarded on the swing, admiring the gold lettering in the leather binding, I wonder how much it would fetch for in the Hob?

“Do you like that author?” Peeta asks, picking up the book and holding it out to me. 

I shake my head “Can't say I do.” He smiles at me and I can't help admiring the dimple that forms near his chin.

“Would you like to borrow it?” 

I shake my head again, tugging on my braid nervously. “No, I uh, I-” I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I can't really read, I mean I can read, but I'm not so good at it.” I finally manage to spit out. I wonder what he must think of me, Seam dirt, not only poor but uneducated too, destined to die in the mud of an alleyway.

I had left school when my father died, needing food for Prim more than anything that school could teach me. While I could read, it often made my head ache, the words mixing up in my brain in a weird way. Often by the time I had finished a paragraph I didn't understand what it was about anymore. 

If it suprises Peeta he doesn't say anything, just tucks the book back next to his side and smiles. “Well, maybe sometime, I can help you with that, I hear I am a good teacher.” I don't like the tightness that is forming in my chest. 

“Maybe.” I say lamely, as the Baker returns holding a small bag. I thank him and move to leave.

“Have a nice evening, Katniss.” Peeta smiles, giving a small wave as I pass by him.

“Uh, you too, I guess.” I am walking across the yard as I peek into the bag. Twelve cheese buns, still warm, and two cookies freshly frosted in a bright pink. I turn on my heel, immediately feeling hot anger coursing through me.

“Its too much!” I shout from the yard as the baker returns to the doorway. “for one measly, scraggly squirrel!” I shout, I take out all but 6 of the rolls and the cookies, holding them out to him. He just looks at me for a long time.

“Please take them, for the little one.” Its quite possibly the only thing he could have said to make me step back, the anger going out of me in a rush. I don't think that Prim has ever had a whole cookie to herself. 

I look down, my pride warring with the idea of being able to give Prim a proper dinner. “I'll get you more.” I sneer, turning on my heel and stalking back down the alleyway, feeling the heat of their stares as I turn the corner.

 

“I swear, that baker is going to go out of business if he insisted on giving out perfectly good food for trade.” I snap as I slam my bag down next to him and perch myself on an old barrel that Gale is leaning against. I hand him a roll and he hands me a flask of tea. 

“I doubt it Catnip,” He says shoving half the roll in his mouth. “He's the only baker in town, besides it isn't your problem if he doesn't know how to trade.” 

“It is my problem Gale, I'm not a cheat!” I shout and he lets out a long, world weary sigh. 

“He's Probably just thinking of Prim, everyone loves that little sister of yours.” He offers lamely, shoving the rest of the roll in his mouth, wiping away the crumbs with the back of his hand. I snort as he smiles, wrapping his arm around me playfully. I feel the weight of it like chains around my neck. I unwind myself from him carefully “Catnip, I need to talk to you.” he says and my heart sinks at his tone. “I've been thinking that you should rethink your answer to my proposal.” 

“No.” I snap immediately and he looks incredulous for a moment.

“That's it, I don't warrant even a moment of thought.” he's pulling his hair in frustration. 

“I'm sorry, I can't accept.” I bite out, grinding my teeth together. 

“Can't or won't?” he asks in a weary voice, pressing his eyes shut like he's warding off a headache. 

“Both. Let's go get the kids.” I force out between gritted teeth.

“Fine.” he snaps back, stalking ahead of me. His tall frame turning dark against the backdrop of a setting sun. he slams his fist into the side of a warehouse as we pass it. 

Rory and Prim are standing near the edge of the schoolyard, beneath a tree. She has her nose in a school book and Rory has his eyes glued to her. I see her eyes slide over to him slyly and her cheeks blush when she catches him. It makes me smile, though Gale is angry at me.

“Come on!” he snarls at a confused looking Rory. When Rory doesn't jump straight up Gale grabs him by the collar of his coat and heaves him up. “Say goodbye to Prim, Rory.” Rory wretches out of his grasp. 

“Goodnight Prim.” Rory says with a smile and Prim smiles back. I wait at a respectful distance while Gale stalks off muttering to himself angrily.

“What was that all about?” Prim asks as she gathers up her books in her arms and falls into step with me.

“Oh you know Gale, full of piss and vinegar.” She eyes me quizzically for a moment.

“What happened?” she presses, poking me in the ribs. 

“He wants to marry me, Prim.” her whole face lights up and she lets out a squeal, grasping me in her spindly arms. “Hold your horses, Prim, I didn't say yes.” 

“Why not?” she asks “I mean he's handsome, more well off than most miners in twelve, and he's crazy about you.” She has a point, my mother has been prodding me about what I want to do, That she won't be around forever and I will need more security and structure in my life, more than hunting can provide. I let out a sigh and tug on my braid.

“Its complicated Prim!” I shout “For one, I've never thought about Gale that way. And for two, I don't want to get married! Ever!” 

“But would it be so bad to be married to him? If you had to get married?” she runs ahead of me to catch up to Rory and I have to wonder, would it? I should just say yes to him, it would make life a lot easier for me and for him. Still I have this nagging worry in my chest that is eating away at me. I feel like he isn't what I am heading for, and I can't shake it. 

By the time I reach home Prim is already there, digging through cupboards trying to find food that isn't there. I throw my game bag to the floor by the door with a huff and stomp toward the small bedroom that Prim and I share. 

“Come on, Katniss!” I hear her huff as I try to slam the door that I had made out of the top of a desk. 

I say nothing while tears pour silently down my face. They don't know, they don't know how bad the winter is going to be. I cough into my hand and when I bring it back my palm is spattered with red. I let out a sigh and wipe my hand on my pants, I do my best to straighten my face and step back out into the candle light of the kitchen. 

“What do you have in your bag of tricks big sister?” Prim asks pulling spices out of the cupboard. 

“5 rolls and two cookies.” I say sheepishly and she nods.

“Not much out there?” she asks and I stare at her a long time before forcing a smile that must look more like a grimace on my face. 

“It'll be okay.” I say biting my thumbnail nervously, I'm saying it more for me than her. Prim always finds hope in everything. 

Its her turn to smile at me. “Of course it will.” she chirps and I look at her with empty eyes. “Do you want me to toast you up a roll and cheese?” she asks but I shake my head.

“I ate earlier at the hob.” I lie easily “I think I'll just make some tea and go to bed.” I kiss her forehead as I reach for the kettle. 

I crawl into bed and snuggle my pillow against my stomach hoping it will help with the gnawing ache that is growing every moment. I am almost asleep when I remember the cookies, I grab one out of my bag and hurry back to our room, placing the perfectly iced cookie on Prim's pillow, a peace offering of sorts. I only now noticed that etched out in the frosting are the perfect, white petals of a katniss flower. 

I awaken far later than I meant to. Prim's side in our bed has long gone cold and I curse to myself, angry that she didn't wake me. When I stand the world spins for a moment. I ignore the flip flopping of my stomach as I struggle to find my boots. 

I am in the living room when my mother comes out from the kitchen. “What do you think you're doing?” she snaps at me

“Going to get us dinner! Where are my boots!” I shout, pushing past her. 

“It can wait! You need rest!” she argues, grabbing my arm so hard I spin around. If I had more energy I probably would have hit her. “You're burning up.” she says pressing her fingers into my clammy forehead.

“I need to go.” I say, doing my best to remain calm. 

“You need to eat!” she counters, only now I have noticed that she holds a bowl of porridge in her hands. 

“They'll be no food if I don't go out and get it.” I say in a low, cold voice. My mother steps away from me as if I slapped her. Her face crumples for a split second and I think she might cry, but it is only a moment and she steels herself again.

“You won't do your sister any good dead.” She snaps back shoving the bowl into my hands, turning on her heel and stalking away, muttering to herself about how stubborn I am. I stare down at my fingers that are shaking so bad the spoon rattles. I let out a long sigh and sit next to the cold hearth, shoving the lukewarm food into my mouth, not tasting it.

After I have scraped the bowl my mother comes into the room, watching me with guarded eyes. “Happy now?” I say in a thick voice, shoving the bowl in her hands. “Can I go?” 

“Nothing I'm going to say is going to stop you.” she sighs handing me my worn boots. “Make sure you put on another pair of socks, its cold.” She says in a softer voice. I roll my eyes at her and she lets out the weariest sound I've ever heard.

“You look just like James when you do that.” She comments and I freeze at my fathers name. 

“Don't talk about him.” I say in a voice that I hope sounds brave, but comes out more defeated. 

Snow crunches beneath my boots as I do math in my head. We have a little bit of meat salted and stored away, a little but not enough to last us the entire winter. I have a few coins I was putting away for Prim's birthday, I had been saving to buy her a new coat and it broke my heart that it all was going towards food now. Food that won't last long at all. 

I venture farther than I have in a long time and my feet scream at me to stop. What little energy that meager breakfast gave me is long gone and I am dizzy. I slurp on some snow to keep my mouth busy, but I am dizzy, if its from my fever or hunger, I can't tell anymore.

I past the lake almost two hours ago and I have yet to see so much as a track, its as if all the animals have disappeared with out a trace. I am about to turn around when I see her, a small doe step out from behind a bush.

My arrow is already nocked by the time she takes another step. I aim but my hands are shaking so violently that the arrow veers to the left, burying itself in a tree a few yards away. I can only stare as she startles and races away off into the forest from wince she came. 

I hear the scream of frustration escape my lungs before I realize its me. All of the bitterness and anger that has been bubbling inside of me radiates out into it. I can't stand the thought of seeing my sisters hollow cheeks and fragile little body. I begin to sob, hot tears running silently down my cheeks and freezing there. I fall to my knees, feeling like I could never stand again. 

I'm not sure how long I stay like that, my fingers scraping the cold mud. Tears freezing to my skin but I finally stand and head home, defeated.

By the time I reach the fence exhaustion takes over, and I fall against it, if it had been on, I'd have been dead for sure. My father used to tell me as he carried me on his shoulders while he traded. “Sweet girl, if you have another step in you, take it.” I think of this as I crawl under the fence. I make it all the way home before I fall against the door trying not to cry. 

My mother finds me there, curled against door, staring off into space.

“Katniss?”

“I almost got a deer today, but I missed... what are we going to do?”

“Katniss, even if you did manage to kill it, how would you have gotten it home?” she asks in a sensible voice. I start to cough and she pushes a tendril of hair that has fallen from my braid out of my face. I stiffen at her touch and she recoils slightly. “I drew you a bath.” She says in a soft voice helping me stand.

I undress slowly, my body feeling stiff and sore. I try to take stock of myself. Bruises litter my olive skin, on my arms and back, both my knees and on my ribs. I have a few shallow cuts and scrapes. My hipbone jut sharply, pulling my skin taunt, I look away quickly, disgusted at myself.

I wince when my icy skin hits the hot water. I pull on my braid methodically as I unravel. I let myself feel for just a moment, hidden behind a partition from my mother, hidden by the steam of a boiled bath I let myself cave in. 

I tally what we have and what we don't, and there doesn't seem to be a way to escape this winter. Tears come hot and fast as I cry as quiet as I can. I know what I have to do, and it won't be easy, like most things in my life. If my mother hears me cry, she doesn't come to comfort me and I don't blame her at all. 

I wait until the water turns cold before I step out and towel off. I wait until my mother and Prim are asleep before I find the blue dress I used to wear for the reaping, and slip it over my head. I brush my hair and re-braid it in a loose, almost romantic plait. I pinch my cheeks to give them a small amount of color and dab some of my mothers rosewater behind my ears. I stare at myself for a long time before I shove my boots on over my tights and grab a shawl of my mothers from the hall closet. 

The seam is quiet tonight, snow falling in soft, fat flakes and catching in my hair. The shawl is threadbare and does little to keep me warm. I step onto the wooden walkway that links the storefronts. I am passing the bakery when I look into the store idly and catch the eye of Peeta as he walks by, his eyebrows furrow in confusion as I speed up, cursing under my breath as he steps out the door and calls my name.

“Katniss what are you doing?” he asks 

“Just seemed like a good night for a walk.” I state, irritation lacing my voice. 

“Its after curfew.” he says, taking in my dress and boots. “And freezing.” he adds as an afterthought.

“And?” I sneer angrily 

“Boy you're a friendly thing.” he says sarcastically 

“I have somewhere to be.” I say turning on my heel. 

“Fine.” he huffs scrubbing his face with his hand, wrapping his ratty robe around himself tighter, I only notice now that he's barefoot. “Wait!” he shouts “I'm sorry! Come inside, I made tea.” I turn around, my expression softening somewhat. 

“I really can't, maybe some other time.” I try to smile, fearing it looks more like a grimace. 

“I'll hold you to that.” he jokes softly and turn and walk away, feeling the heat of his stare as I cross the square. I am almost to Cray's when I dare to turn around. His eyes are wide with understanding and it fills me with Shame I have to look away. I don't look back as I knock on the door but I feel his gaze on me. I'm sure this will be all over town tomorrow, the one that hunts beyond the fence, nothing more than a Seam whore.

Cray seems surprised to see me. “Got any game for me girl?” I force myself to straighten my shoulders. 

“No, I was hoping-” I choke, swallowing the lump that's forming in my throat. “I was hoping that you needed a little company this evening?” I croak out, my voice sounding small, like a child.

He regards me for a moment, sizing me up with his eyes. “You a virgin, girl?” he asks and I nod, not trusting my voice. He opens the door wider to allow me in. I step into the soft light and when the door slams I jump.

He offers me a shot of white liquor to calm my nerves and I accept, liking the way it burns my throat. His kindness stops there.

He shows me to his room and demands that I undress. I remove the shawl and fold it neatly next I unbutton my dress, kicking it away from me and crossing my arms over my bare breasts. I can smell the stench of liquor on his breath and it gags me as he leans into my ear.

“This is going to hurt.” I nod in understanding, it really will.

He shoves me onto the bed and rips my underwear away. I let out a small gasp and it only serves to excite him, he bites my shoulder and I let out a whimper. He wasn't kidding. 

I don't cry out again, I won't give him the satisfaction. As he moves ontop of me I pretend I am hovering above myself, I think of Prim's hollow cheeks and my mother's lifeless gaze. He says something to me, I'm not listening.

Thats when he hits me, cuffing me on the side of my head and I call out in pain. This sends him into a frenzy, pulling my braid but I grit my teeth. Don't cry, Don't cry, Don't cry. I demand of myself, gritting my teeth and steeling myself, balling the sheets in my fists.

He is done soon after, chest heaving as I lay still as a stone beneath him. After what feels like an eternity he rolls his white body off me and demands I get up. 

“Get dressed.” he demands and I do as I am told, forgetting the torn panties on the bed. I shove them in my pocket with shaking fingers. He counts out some coins and puts them in a small sack, throwing them on the bed.

“I took out five coins for the stain on the bedsheet.” Only now have I noticed I left a red streak. I nod stoically, trying my best not to cry. “You were good.” he adds cheerfully, “I'll remember that next time.” my face crumples, but I catch myself.

“Now go straight home girl, its past curfew.” he dismisses me and I turn, practically running out the door. 

I make it to the butchers before I dissolve in tears, I take stock of myself in the window. My hair is rumpled and there is a bruise blooming on my temple, I unravel my braid quickly to hide it beneath my raven hair. I have a small cut on my lip that would be hard to explain. I am unbelievably sore and I fear I might not be able to walk all the way home. My eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying. 

I give myself one minute to grieve for myself, just one minute of self pity. I let out a small noise from the back of my throat, shoving my hand over my mouth before it becomes a wail that wakes the whole district. 

I turn back towards the end of the walkway to see Peeta standing there, leaning against a lamp post. I am inexplicably angry with him. 

“What!” I half whisper half shout at him and he flinches at me. 

“Are you okay?” he asks and it throws me off guard, the concern in his voice. 

I shake my head slowly and begin to walk past him, he grabs my shoulder and I snap back as if I have been burned, causing the coins in my hand to tumble from my fingers and I scramble to pick them up. He watches me with eyes heavy with what? Pity? Grief? 

“Katniss?” his voice is soft

“I don't need your pity!” I all but shout, grabbing the last coin from the dirt and straightening the shawl around my shoulders. He holds his hands out as if doesn't know what else to do. I shove past him, stepping off the walkway and towards the darkness of the Seam. 

“At least let me walk you home.” he says following me. “You're shaking like a leaf.” 

“Don't be ridiculous.” I snap, willing my feet to go faster, I'm almost running though I am so sore I feel like I may collapse. He stops following soon after and watches me as I disappear from view. The rest of my walk home is quiet, I mostly listen to my heartbeat and marvel at the fact that this thing happened and I am still alive, I must have more steps, so I take them.


	2. Chapter 2

I throw the underwear in the garbage bin outside, shoving them down as far as they'll go before I slip inside the door, there is soft candle light from the kitchen and I know my mother has gotten up. I sigh as I pull my boots off. My mother comes around the corner and stops short when she sees me. It only takes a moment for her to decipher where I have been. Her face goes white as she covers her mouth with a frail hand, clearly horrified. I open my mouth to shout an insult at her, all that comes out is a whimper as I begin to cry. I drop the coins from my shaking hands, they scatter across the carpet.

“Oh Katniss,” she says softly “What have you done?” She wraps her arm around me and I try to shove her away.

She doesn't resist, just looks at me with her cornflower blue eyes. I can hardly see through my tears. I stare at my feet and count in my head once I get to twenty I feel my breathing begin to even out.

“I'm going to bed now.” I say in a tiny voice, holding up a hand to silence my mother. “Please.” I whisper when she opens her mouth. “Don't.” I lean down and gather up the coins clutching them to my chest as I shuffle off to bed, my mother staring after me.

I awaken to the soft light of morning, the snow has been replaced by an abnormally sunny day. Prim is still fast asleep next to me, her hair wild around her face. I brush away her bangs to admire how young she looks in her sleep. I want to let her live in her dreams some more, I want her to escape this depressing reality for a few more moments, but I know that any change will cause her to question me, and I don't need her questions now, not with the taste of last night still on my lips.

I climb out of bed and dress quickly, then I shake Prim awake, her eyes immediately finding the cut on my lip. “What happened to your face?” she asks, pushing my hair away from my face and touching the black and blue bruise that has bloomed there. I can't help but wince.

“I went out last night and it was dark, I slipped on some ice.” 

Her eyebrows knit together immediately. “You... Slipped?” she asks in an incredulous tone. I nod, swallowing the knot forming in my throat. “You don't slip, Katniss.” she says her tone hard. I am pulling out an old sweater of our dad's for her to wear out of our bureau. I drop it back down and look at her pointedly.

“Well, I did last night!” I snap and her face falls. I sigh, handing her the sweater which she takes with timid hands. 

“I'm sorry I yelled, Little Duck.” I pull on the tip of her braid and offer her a small smile. After a moment she smiles.

“Quack.” she whispers and push her bangs away from her face, trying to remember she is far too old for such games.

I dread going out into public today, I'm sure the news is all over town. Especially with how rude I was to Peeta, he probably told everyone he saw me. Such an interesting piece of gossip is sure to catch the attention of his mother and her snooty merchant friends. Disgraced Breslin Everdeen's daughter, seam trash, now a confirmed whore. 

Eventually I step outside into the cold light of morning, better to walk out with my head high. I slip my fathers jacket over my sweater feeling like I don't deserve to wear it. I take my time walking into town, the coins I have in my pocket weighing me down. I feel the bite of bile in my throat as I reach the grocery shop, taking a shaky breath I open the door and every eye turns to look at me, I can feel myself reddening. I am surprised when slowly the eyes flit away, disinterested with me.

I gather up a few meager supplies for a simple dinner. I set my goods on the counter and ignore the stares of a gaggle of merchant girls. One of the girls I went to school with giggles behind her hand, I can't help noticing that her nails don't have a speck of dirt beneath them. After a moment she steps over to me, her blue eyes sharp with malice.

“I remember when this place was respectable.” She says with a shake of her head, her voice thick with mock disappointment, she pretends to eye a bowl of fruit on the counter next to me. She picks up an orange and examines it for a moment before setting it back down with boredom. “Now they let any old trash in here.” she looks pointedly at me. 

“Why Lessa Valentine.” A voice booms behind her and I can't help but cringe. Peeta holds a sack of flour up on his shoulder. I try not to notice the way his muscles are bunched beneath his shirt. The grocer comes over and begins to tally up my order. I feel sick to my stomach with nerves.

“Oh hi Peeta.” she says curling her hair around her finger and jutting her chest out towards him. I roll my eyes despite myself. 

 

“That's a real pretty dress your wearing.” Now I really feel like I might vomit, the grocer isn't moving fast enough and I click my nails against the table pointedly. 

“Oh, this old thing, thank you.” she says brightly. I think I actually gag. 

“Yeah, I hear it takes the space of a boy's smile to get you out of it.” he gives her a crooked grin as she turns the color of a tomato. I let out a snort of laughter. She stomps off grumbling to herself. 

“I don't think she'll bother you again.” He says softer and I wither under his stare, remembering the way they looked at me last night. I grab my bag of groceries mumbling a thanks to him as I practically run from the store. 

“Wait!” he shouts following me out of the store in a rush. “Katniss, please wait!” he grabs me by the elbow and I can't help but startle back. He hold his hands out as if he means no harm. I fight the growing hysteria in my chest.

“I'm sorry.” he says tiredly “I didn't mean to frighten you, I just thought maybe I could walk you home.” 

“Why?” I ask and he looks like he really didn't expect the question, he bites his lip before turning a shade of pink. 

“I don't know, you seem nice, I want to know you better.” 

“Nice?” I snort 

“Alright, you want the truth?” he asks in a tight voice “You seem abrasive and rude, and I still want to walk you home.”

“Why?” I echo, a little softer now.

“Because, it seems like a good day for a walk.” he says with a crooked grin, the one that brings out that dimple on his chin. Something melts inside of me for a moment and I nod, wondering what it was about him that was so good at disarming me, while making me feel on edge at the same time. 

He takes the bag from my arm despite my protests and gestures for me to lead the way. I turn on my heels, bent on ignoring him the entire way. He seems content with our quiet. He watches his feet for most of the walk. We are about halfway to my house when he clears his throat uncertainly. I roll my eyes, shoving my hands in the pocket of my jacket, pulling it tight around me. He looks like he might say something but thinks better of it.

“Okay, out with it.” I snap

“You really don't spend much time around people do you?” he huffs, seeming annoyed. 

“Not really.” I shrug and he clears his throat again. “You have something to say Peeta just say it.” I sigh my patience growing thin.

“About last night-” he starts looking down at his feet. 

“What about it?” I challenge, he steps in front of me to stop me but he doesn't try to grab me again. He reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear, wincing as he takes in the purple stain on my skin. His fingers brush the cut on my lip. Its a surprisingly tender movement and the feeling of his skin on mine gives me goosebumps. 

“I hate that he hurt you.” he says his voice thick with anger.

“So do I.” I am taken back by my declaration I take a step away from him and eye him warily. “Why didn't you tell anyone?” I ask, feeling like I can't breathe properly.

“Its your business to tell.” he responds softly “Besides, I have better things to do than give my mother anymore gossip.”

“Like what?”

“Like walk a pretty girl home on a cold day, come on, you must be freezing.” 

“Oh please.” I snarl and he smiles for a moment before his face turns serious again. 

“I didn't know it was that bad Katniss.” I shrug my shoulders and try to look nonchalant when all I want to do is cry, I feel like I've done enough crying for a lifetime in the past few days so I bite the inside of my cheek instead.

“I just did what I had to.” I say softly and he leaves it at that. We remain silent the rest of the walk. 

“Here I am.” I say when we reach the gate my father made years ago. He hands my bag back and stands there awkwardly for a moment.

“Would it be okay to come by sometime?” I furrow my brows together in confusion.

“Why would you do that?” I ask

“Because I'm lonely, Katniss.” he says with a tinge of sadness. “You seem like you might be lonely too.” 

“You don't know anything about me.” I counter

“But I'd like too.” he quips 

“You left your flour at the grocers, I'm sure your father will be missing it.” I say, dismissing him. He shrugs as if its the most inconsequential thing in the world.

“It can wait.” 

“It really can't, thank you for walking me home, but I need to go.” 

“Alright, have a good day Katniss Everdeen.” he says with a wide smile, one I have never seen before, its infectious, I can't help but give him a smile back. 

As soon as I step inside I am caught by my mother sitting at the table. Her hands folded in front of her. She looks up at me with an expression that breaks my heart. “Sit down.” she demands her bottom lip trembling. 

“Katniss we need to talk about what's happened. It might be painful but its necessary. “

“Just say it.” I say wearily 

“You went to Cray.” she whispers carefully. “It breaks my heart that you thought that was a viable option.”

“I did what needed to be done!” I shout, slamming my hand against the table. “We aren't going to last the winter if you didn't notice!” 

“Did he use protection?” she asks me bluntly “Something to prevent you from getting pregnant?” I shake my head mutely feeling numb and suddenly sick. She stands and pulls a mug of tea from the counter. 

 

“Drink this.” she hands me the lukewarm liquid “It'll take care of it.” she doesn't meet my gaze. I nod, it's vile and thick but I choke down a few swallows. “All of it.” she demands and I finish it off with a wince. 

“There, that's good.” her voice is suddenly tender as she moves to touch my face. I move away from her hand. She sighs loudly.

“How long will you be angry with me?” she asks

“As long as it takes.” I say simply, handing her the mug and turning away from her. “I'm going to bed now.” I state, desperate to feel the sheets against my skin. Feeling so tired of life I could scream. 

I awaken to soft, late afternoon light pouring in through the window, muffled voices drifting in from down the hall. I meet Prims blue eyes and suddenly I am brought back to reality.

“I knew you didn't slip.” she says flatly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“Who told you?” I snap, sitting up. She is holding that damn tomcat in her lap, petting him mindlessly. “Who told you!” I demand, anger boiling my blood.

“Mom did.” I already knew the answer. 

“Damn her.” I hit my pillow

“Don't be mad at her, I insisted she tell me what was wrong, you never sleep during the day.” 

“You weren't ever suppose to know.” I whisper into my pillow, I can't meet her eyes, she must be so ashamed of me. 

“It's going to be okay Katniss.” 

“How do you know Prim?” I ask one silent tear falling down my face. 

“Because it just has to.” she strokes my hair and I let her, I feel like a small child, like our roles have been reversed, like she's the one protecting me from the world. I let my head wind its way into her lap and we stay that way a long time.

 

“Gale is here, he wants to see you.” I shut my eyes tight. 

“I can't see him right now Prim.” she nods watching the late afternoon sun disappear on the horizon, watching the hills beyond the district, the only real home I have ever known, darken with impending night. 

 

“I know you don't believe it, but Katniss, one day, all of this will be gone, and we will be alright.” 

“What would I do without you little duck?” I question, managing a tiny smile. 

“Die, Probably.” she says with a smile. 

I find Gale two days later, after my bruise has started to look less angry. He's just escaped the mines and I almost walk right past him, covered in coal dust, trudging down the old road that separates the Seam from the Mine. He stops and watches me with a critical eye.

“What happened to your face?” he demands pushing my hair out of the way and I let out a exasperated sigh.

“I slipped.” 

“You Slipped?” he questions with raised eyebrows

“Yeah, I slipped, why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you never slip.” 

“Well, I slipped on some ice and fell, no big deal.” I huff

“Fine.” he mutters

“Fine.” I snap back

“What's this I hear about a merchant boy walking you home?” he asks suddenly and a flash of anger goes through me.

“What about it?” 

 

“I just heard that suddenly you've been spending time with the Bakers son.”

“He's just a friend, not even that really, just helped me carry a bag home is all.” 

“a friend that checks out your ass.” He says looking at me pointedly

“He doesn't do that.” he makes a dismissive noise from the back of his throat.

“Sure, Katniss.” 

“Don't you Sure Katniss me!” I snap

“I don't want to fight, Catnip can we just forget I said anything.” 

“No.” I state flatly, but before I can finish my thought his lips are pressed against mine. They taste like coal dust, and oranges oddly. I wait for a moment trying to see if I feel anything besides the firm pressure of his lips against mine. I don't at all, and after a moment I push him away angrily. 

“I had to do it, at least once.” he says and turns walking away before I can respond. 

I press my fingers to my lips trying not to remember the feeling of Crays heavy body on top of mine. I run all the way home and bury my face in Prim's hair. I feel like I am collapsing from the inside out and it terrifies me.

Its early evening when there is a knock on the door. Prim leaves me curled up asleep on the old, ratty couch to answer it. I don't give it much thought, we have any number of injured miners and pregnant seam girls coming and going at all hours of the night. My mother's eyes widen when she spots who is at the door, her eyes flitting to me on the couch from where she stands in the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Katniss, there is someone to see you.” My sister says in an oddly soft voice. 

“Tell Gale to go away.” I moan burying my face in the couch cushion. I don't have the energy in me to deal with him and his kiss. When I think about him my head starts to hurt. 

“It's Peeta Mellark.” she whispers her eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Okay, well tell him to go away.” I mutter trying to shut the light out from my eyes, hiding beneath my arm.

“You tell him!” she suddenly snaps at me “coward.” she adds as an afterthought and I give her a long hard stare. She isn't backing down her eyes meeting mine defiantly. I huff but move to stand.

“What do you want?” I say pulling the door open wider. He holds a basket in the crook of his arm and he wears a worn black pea coat that is a size or two too large for him. Snow caught in his hair and eyelashes. 

“Can I come in for a moment?” he asks running a hand through his hair, the movement distracts me for a second and I find that all of my words are caught in my throat.

“Please do.” My mother says politely from behind me. “I put on a kettle for tea.” He offers my mother a smile and steps around me as my eyebrows knit together angrily. “How is your father?” she asks pulling him toward the kitchen.

I can't hear his response as I stare at them from the doorway. Prim moves close to me and smiles. “Stop staring Katniss.” she whispers and it seems to snap me from my thoughts. 

He sets the basket down on the table and begins to pull out a few cans of various goods like vegetables and sausages. Then he pulls out a whole pie and an uncooked chicken. Butcher food!

“What is this?” I growl holding up a can of peas for inspection. I am ready to tear into him when Prim screams excitedly from behind me.

“I've never had Chicken before!” she squeals and Peeta smiles at her, effectively stilling any argument I had within me. 

“I like squirrel myself, but I thought this might be more convenient.” Seeing them standing next to each other, I almost forget that he doesn't belong here, almost.

“Thank you Peeta but we can't except this.” I say through gritted teeth. 

“Why not?” he asks his eyes wide in mock innocence, Prim looks between us and takes a step back. 

“The Everdeen's don't accept Charity!” I shout handing him the can that's in my hand.

“Oh it's not Charity.” he says shaking his head and I can't help but roll my eyes. He hands the can back to me. “Because I am not a very good cook, I'm hoping your mother would be kind enough to let me join you guys for dinner. You see, I hear from my father she makes the best chicken rub from wild rosemary and lemon.” I am about to snap back that we don't have any of that but he begins pulling it out of his wicker basket, along with a loaf of fresh sourdough bread. Handing it to Prim she clutches it to her chest tightly, a smile on her face I had almost forgotten. My Pride wars with my heart, in the end I can't deny Prim a hot dinner. 

“Take a seat won't you Peeta.” my mother sets to work on the chicken and I stalk out of the room, down the hall to my room slamming the door behind me as best I can. 

“Nevermind her,” I hear Prim say softly. “She's just tired.” 

“I can imagine.” Peeta responds back quietly and I can almost see the look he wears on his face. 

I stay in my room stubbornly until Prim calls me for dinner, when I step out I find my mother in rapt conversation with Peeta her eyes brighter than I have seen in years. The smell of the roasted chicken is more than my empty stomach can take and it growls loudly, making Prim laugh. 

“Come, please sit.” my mother gestures to my chair at the table next to Peeta and I take painfully small steps, he offers me a shy smile as I move the chair out, I just glare at him. There is more food here than I have seen in a month, I turn to see Peeta gawking at me.

“Do I have something on my face?” I snort pointedly and he just gives me a kind smile that makes my stomach twist in a weird way. I turn away to see Prim eyeing the air between us with a smirk. 

“I'm sorry.” he says softly as I scoop a mound of mashed potatoes onto my plate only now noticing that my mother has pulled out our good china, the worn design chipping off in places, a relic from her merchant past. I wonder how much I could get from one plate at the hob. Maybe I'll take them in tomorrow. 

We eat in silence, I refuse to look anyone in the eyes as I shove the food in my mouth so fast I almost choke. “Katniss, slow down.” my mother demands and I force myself to chew slower. 

After dinner Prim and Peeta sit near the fire playing cards and I sit on the couch noticing how weird it is that Peeta seems to fit in so easily with my family, especially when I seem like such an outsider. 

After a round of cards Peeta gathers his coat and scarf and moves towards the door. My mother gives him a hug. “Give Graham my best.” She whispers in his ear with a smile. 

“I will Mrs Everdeen.” He finally turns to face me, giving me a crooked smile.

“I had a nice time tonight Katniss, thank you.”

“I didn't invite you here.” I mutter looking everywhere but him. He give a short laugh shaking his head.

“Indeed you didn't, so thank you for sharing a meal with me.” 

Something about the look in his eyes seems to snake its way inside of me, burrowing itself somewhere in the pit of my stomach. “You're welcome, I guess.” I chew on my lips, staring at the floorboards. 

“I'll see you later .” I nod and he's out the door before I can say anything else. Suddenly I am scared that he won't be home before curfew and it worries me, I don't know why.

I head to the kitchen and look down at the leftovers, enough to last us two, maybe three days. I lift the apple pie and breathe in its scent, wondering how much it costs at his fathers bakery and if his mother knows that he brought it to us, what might happen to him if she did. 

“I think he likes you, you know.” Prim whispers and I turn to her.

“I think you need to stop reading so many fairytales, little duck.” I quip back covering the pie with tin foil and placing it in the icebox. 

“He looks at you different.” she says, perching herself on the counter, watching me as I clean up.

“Oh yeah, how so?” 

“Like Dad used to look at Mom.” 

Her words still my hands as I begin to boil water for dishes. “That's ridiculous Prim, Why would he like me, he's a merchant and I am destined to die in the mines.” This makes her look away from me, her bottom lip trembling.

“Why do you always say things like that?” she asks sharply

“Because its the truth.” I mutter cleaning the counter with a wet rag. 

“You don't have to live like this!” she shouts “Making sacrifices so I don't have to! When are you going to realize that I can take care of myself, maybe you can actually have a life of your own!” she grabs the towel from my fingers and sets to work on the dining room table as I stare at her mutely. “I'm not a child anymore.” she says , her eyes cast downward. 

I can't help but think of that little girl standing in her reaping dress, shaking violently. Two braids and a duck tail, the feeling of relief that washed over me when it was it was someone else whose name was called. Not hers, not mine. 

“Maybe you're not a child anymore, little duck, but I'm still your big sister, you would do well to remember it and life isn't a fairytale.” 

“You've made that clear Katniss.” Her eyes won't meet mine and swallow hard. She turns away and walks to our room, leaving me alone with my heartbreak.

I wait until the fire dies to embers before I head to our bed. She is fast asleep on her side, clutching the apple doll my father made for her birthday, so long ago now. I sit at the edge of the bed and pull my boots off, I unravel my braid before I climb under the worn quilt my fathers mother made long before he was ever born. I dream of the heaviness of a white body on top of me, suffocating me slowly, I dream of bloodstained sheets, I wake with a gasp. 

Prim's arms circle me and she murmurs soothing words until I fall asleep again the taste of tears on my lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Gale watches the silvery glint of the lake water off in the distance with empty, closed off eyes. I can't help but admire how close the color resembles his eyes. He catches me staring and smiles. Our snare line is empty more often than not this winter but we managed to bag a couple of rabbits this morning, they won't fetch much at the hob but it leaves a hopeful feeling in my belly, I'm not sure I like the feeling anymore. 

“Are you going to the winter festival?” Gale asks taking a long pull from his flask of tea. 

“Probably, Prim is really excited about going.” I respond, taking a small bite of the sourdough bread that I brought with me. I am leaning against the rough bark of a sapling perched on a hill, listening to the birds gossip above me. Truthfully, I could think of a million things I would rather be doing than going to the winter festival but Prim is fond of going and she gets so few pleasures in her life that I can't help but get excited for her sake. 

“Yeah, Rory can't stop talking about it.” He says with a smile. “We may have to pry them apart with a crow bar.”

“Don't remind me.” I growl, taking another bite of my bread.

“You sure have been eating a lot of bread lately Catnip.” Gale notices with raised eyebrows. “The Baker's son keeping you fed?” Something in his tone rubs me the wrong way and I let out a huff. “Oh, Calm down, I'm just joking.” Gale snaps, running his hands through his hair. 

“Are you Gale? It doesn't sound like it!” I stand on stiff legs and grab my game bag, preparing to stalk off. 

“Wait!” Gale shouts, rushing to chase after me. He places a hard hand on my shoulder and I let out a shriek whirling around with my fist raised, white and red flashing across my vision. He deftly deflects my fist and stares at me with wide eyes.

“What the hell is with you the last few days?” he says in a voice that sounds more scared than mad. “Did someone hurt you?” I wasn't expecting his eyes to be searching mine like they are, I wasn't expecting his eyes to turn from hard to understanding in a split second. I open my mouth to speak but instead I turn on my heel and run, stumbling through the knee high grass, struggling to see through the tears that threaten to run down my face. 

“Katniss!” he is hard-pressed to keep up with me, I've always had light feet. Then he comes out from around a tree just yards away from me and forces me to stop so quickly I land on my butt in the mud, I don't even know how he got around me. 

I think he might touch me but he doesn't, just squats in front of me and looks in my eyes. I must be a sight, my heart is beating violently in my chest and I can't catch my breath. I'm coughing so hard my throat burns and when I finally get some air I taste blood on my lips. Gale looks perturbed, his silver eyes narrowed into slits, boring into me.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I mutter, trying to stand but falling back down in the mud. He stands without a word and offers me his hand, I stare at it for a moment before letting him help me up. I wipe the dead leaves from my pants as Gale collects my game bag from where it slid off my shoulder. 

“Now, lets go home.” He says, running his hands down my arms until he grasps one of my hands in his own. The relief that he doesn't ask me anymore questions is palatable. He doesn't release my hand, however, and it leaves a lump in my throat. In fact, he doesn't let me go until we crawl under the fence. He remains silent until we enter the hob, I can see the questions in his eyes. 

We sell both the rabbits to Sae who offers us a bowl of warm stew. I eat mine leaned against the wall farthest from Gale when I feel a tug on my braid. I jerk my head around to see Darius, red hair a stark contrast to the sea of black hair around him. 

“Katniss Everdeen, what do you have in that bag of magic today?” he asks with an easy smile.

“Nothing for you. Go away.” I mutter taking a large bite of stew. He wears a look of mock hurt, holding his hand to his heart.

“You're breaking my heart Everdeen.” 

“Yours isn't the only one boy.” Cray says from behind him and my hands go stock still. Panic welling in my chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“Sir.” Darius says curtly, his eyes falling to the floorboards. 

“Shouldn't you be at your post?” Cray questions and Darius nods, shuffling off. 

Cray looks at me as if only just noticing that I am there. I stare at my hands and count in my head, trying not to remember the look on his face as he gasped out at the end of our night together, how ugly he looked to me. 

“Miss Everdeen, How are you this fine morning?” I swallow the vomit that is rising in my throat.

“Well Sir, and yourself?” I croak, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste metallic blood.

“I'd be better if my bed weren't so cold.” he says with a wink. “I was hoping to see you among the girls.” he adds in a whisper, leaning in until his lips brush my ears, I cringe away. 

“I've been busy, Sir.” I whisper back, hoping no one can hear me. 

“Maybe you shouldn't be so busy tonight.” 

I feel a surge of anger flash through me. “I'll be quite busy for awhile, actually.” He laughs at this, his bulbous nose crinkling up. 

“Maybe that pretty little sister of yours won't be so busy.” He whispers in a low voice and winks at me, for an instant all I see is red. I lunge at him, knocking my stew to the ground. A pair of arms circle me the moment I reach him, deftly pulling me away. Cray is laughing as he moves on towards the door, the sea of people parting for him. 

“Let go of me!” I shout and turn, expecting Gale but he's staring at me from his spot near Sae. I only now take in the stench of liquor and find Haymitch Abernathy watching Cray's retreating form. 

“Careful Girl.” Haymitch says, still holding onto me as I fight against him. “He isn't one you want to tango with.” He looks at me with a sad expression on his face. “Then you probably already know that don't you sweetheart?” 

“I'm not your sweetheart.” I growl as Gale pushes past us and out towards the door. For a moment I don't have the energy to follow him, he is surely upset with me. 

“Better go get your boyfriend, sweetheart, looks like he's gearing up for a fight.” Haymitch releases me and I nearly tumble to the floor. Panic sets in as I turn on my heel and chase Gale.

“Gale don't!” I shout reaching him as he's rounding the corner out the door. 

“Jesus Katniss, Cray?” Gale shouts, and a few dark heads turn to stare at us.

“Keep your voice down.” I bark, trying to yank him to a stop but he barely budges. 

“I'll kill him.” he says in a cold voice, turning to look at me as if for the first time. He stops short all of a sudden and stares at me, taking me in with fire in his eyes. 

“Slipped my ass Katniss, you are a terrible liar.” he huffs “I can't believe you!” he shouts at me. 

“I didn't have a choice.” I mean to yell it at him but it comes out hoarse and quiet. 

“Yes you did, I told you I'd take care of you. I promised you! You could have had me and yet you chose him.” I am shaking my head violently, tears pouring down my face. 

“Gale please.” I pleadingly whisper, edging myself closer to him. When my eyes meet his I immediately wish they didn't. I am used to his mirth and fire, not this disgust and utter contempt. I look away quickly.

“No.” he whispers as I try to lean against him, desperate for him to stay with me “I don't want you now.” with that he turns and walks away. I wrap my hands around my middle, a desperate attempt and holding myself together. I wipe my eyes uselessly and see that a small crowd has gathered around us. 

“What!” I scream at them, tears pouring from my face. 

“Alright folks, show's over!” Darius shouts from behind them and they disperse quickly, he eyes me sadly from a few feet away. Something in his eyes breaks me and I fall to my knees in the coal coated snow. I attempt to shut out all of the noise around me by clamping my hands over my ears but it does little to quell the screaming in my head. 

I can hear muffled speaking but I don't care who he's talking too, all I can feel is this hollowness in my chest where my best friend used to be. Suddenly I am being lifted up from the freezing ground. Someone is trying to pry my hands from my ears. “No!” I shout, turning to claw the intruder in the face. 

“Katniss, it's me! It's Peeta!” I still at his voice as my eyes squint to look at him through tears. 

“Peeta?” I squeak 

“Hi.” he says with a soft smile, brushing my hair back from my face.

“What are you doing here.” I snap, feeling embarrassed and tired, I am trying to ignore the way his hands are resting on my back.

“Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought to myself, Peeta, you haven't had your daily dose of Katniss Everdeen scowl today, and you know, a day when Katniss Everdeen isn't scowling at you, well, that day is just no good.” 

“You're an idiot.” I mutter crossing my arms over my chest and looking down at the ground, sniffling slightly as my tears slow. 

He examines the sky for a moment before answering. “Yeah, you're probably right.” I am suddenly and painfully aware that I am sitting awkwardly across his lap. I move to stand quickly and he laughs.

“Will you be able to make it home or would you like me to carry you?” I turn to huff away from him. “Alright, that wasn't a nice joke, please let me walk you home!” he shouts, rushing to catch up to me. 

“God, why are you always doing this?” I snap “I know the way to my house, you know!” 

“I know.” he says lamely “I like talking to you.” 

“Why? I just yell at you and scowl apparently.” 

“I happen to like being yelled at!” he shouts still trying to keep up. I roll my eyes but slow slightly to let him fall in step with me. He seems happy with the silence, while I feel worn out from crying. I watch my shoes as I walk, trying not to be irritated by his heavy footfalls.

We've been walking for quite awhile when he snaps a twig under foot loudly and I give him a groan. “Will you shut up!” 

“I haven't said anything.” he says evenly, looking at me as if I have two heads. 

“You'd make a terrible hunter.” I utter picking up my pace.

“Good thing I bake then.” he smiles and I stop short, staring at him. 

“How do you do that?” I ask, my voice sounds incredulous despite being angry. 

“Do what?” 

“Keep up your disgustingly sunny attitude when everything is so hopeless!” I shout. 

“Nothing is hopeless Katniss.” he whispers, leaning towards me. 

“I am.” I am shocked that I have been so honest with him, but he seems to bring it out in me. I'm not so sure I like it. 

“I don't think so.” he admits softly, digging the toe of his shoe in the frozen muck of mud and coal dust. 

“Yeah well, you're an idiot.” I whisper, all of the fight whooshing out of me at once. 

“So we've established.” he quips, giving me that crooked grin I have come to know well the past week. 

“And...” I struggle to pull a coherent insult from my head. “You have dumb hair.” he rolls his eyes at me dramatically. 

“Do you think?” he says with a quizzical look as he runs his hands through the blonde curls, darkening wetly as the snow begins to fall. “Really, Katniss, I think you could do better than that.” I try to think of a witty retort but the only thing I can think about is the way snow is collecting in his eyelashes, I do the only thing I know how to do, run. 

“Leaving?” Peeta calls after me. “Well, see you later then!” 

I slam the front door shut behind me, locking it. My mother left me a note on the kitchen counter. A woman down the road has gone into labor and to enjoy the festival without her. I let out a long sigh and fall into a chair by the fire. Now, behind the safety of the locked door I let Cray's threat ring through my head. I have to go to him, I have to or he will take my sister. Its too much, I run to the sink and wretch up my breakfast. Prim will be home soon, I can't let her know anything is wrong. 

 

I pace the living room and wait, watching anxiously until I see Rory, Prim, Vick and Posy's silhouettes crest the top the hill. Prim chatters excitedly as soon as she gets through the door. She stops short once she sees my face.

“What happened?” she asks, rushing to my side. I try to smile at her, brushing her hair behind her ear. All I can think of is that little, frail sister and wondering what happened to her?

“Nothing happened, little duck.” I force out brightly. “I'll be fine.” she nods understandingly running her hands down my arm in a soothing manner. “Now, help me pick out something to wear.” I swallow my tears as she smiles, my distraction working like a charm. She pulls me to the bedroom without another thought. 

An hour later and I am dressed in a black floral print dress with buttons sewn artfully down the back, tiny bits of hand-me-down lace at the collar and hem. I am wearing thick, warm tights and at Prim's insistence I have worn my hair in an elegant twist as opposed to my usual braid. I pull on my boots and coat and wait for Prim to finish getting ready, as I do, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look like a lady, almost, not quite. 

We walk with Hazelle and her gaggle of children, but Gale is noticeably absent. Posy insists that I carry her and I am thankful my hands have something to do. Feeling as if I am being marched to my death. 

As we reach the edge of the party I notice that people are staring at me openly, whispering behind their hands a few even giggle. I feel myself blush and I bite my lip hard. Don't any of these people have anything else better to do than gossip?

“Katty, dance with me!” Posy squeals in my ear. 

“Awww baby, Katty doesn't feel like dancing right now, but I'm sure that Primmy would love to.” Now she is squirming out of my grasp, reaching out for Prim who indulges the little girl. I smile at Prim as the group of them bounds off, laughing amongst themselves. I find a spot near the sweet shop to lean where I can see Prim and Posy dancing near the fiddle player who has struck up a lively tune. I watch with fierce eyes as they twirl amongst dark and blonde heads alike. 

The air is heavy with the smell of snow and woodsmoke. Vendors, Greasy Sae included, have set up booths with items to be bought. Games are set up for the small children and Ripper is making good money selling jugs of white liqour and cups of spiced wine. A group of blonde merchant boys are near my feet, eating iced funnel cake. One smiles up at me shyly, and it makes my stomach tight, almost like a memory I can't quite pull from my mind. 

I feel someone come up behind me and I know who it is before he speaks. “Hello Peeta.” I smile, though all I can feel in my extremities is cold dread. 

“I'm losing my touch.” he says leaning against the railing behind me. He holds out a cup of red liquid. 

“What's this?” I ask curiously. Taking a tentative sip and recoil. “ugh.” 

“Wine.”Peeta laughs and it leaves a warm feeling in my stomach. “ you get used to the taste.” He says taking a drink from his own cup. I take another sip, finding it tastes a little better. 

“How are the winter festivities treating you Katniss Everdeen?” he asks and I can't help but scan the crowd, noticing all the harsh glances being thrown in my direction. 

“Oh, same as every year.” I say flatly 

“That's pessimistic.” 

“That's life.” I say in a world weary way. 

He leans in close to me, so close I can smell the wine on his lips. “Sounds like you haven't been living a very good one.” 

“That's a rude thing to say.” I snap stepping away from the railing and he almost tumbles over the side. He catches himself and hops over easily, I roll my eyes, but I laugh anyway.

“That's quite a sight.” he says bumping my shoulder with his. 

“What?” I say, suddenly realizing that I have lost Prim in the crowd. Dammit! 

“A genuine Katniss Everdeen laugh!” I am searching for Prim's face in a sea of people who seem to be eying me with contempt. Peeta catches my face fall and begins to search the crowd as well. 

“Where is she?” I whisper, panic welling in me, when suddenly she comes bounding over calling my name out of nowhere, she pushes through the crowd. Vick at her heels.

“The Baker gave us a cookie!” she calls happily, splitting it in half, handing the larger portion out to me. 

“Eat your cookie, duck.” I wave her off, still trying to calm my heart. Peeta watches my face as she runs off to find Rory. 

“You're rather intense about her, aren't you?” 

“Cray threatened her.” I blurt suddenly, turning to look at him. If he seems shocked he doesn't show it. “If I don't keep-” I trail off looking at the snow covered ground at my feet, stained with coal dust from my boots. “If I don't-” I try again hopelessly, tears welling up behind my eyes. 

“You don't have to say it Katniss.” he says softly, pulling me close to him. He smells like wine, cinnamon, dill and something else entirely his own, I find myself leaning into his touch rather than recoiling from in, pressing my nose into the collar of his white, pressed button down shirt. I lay my cheek against his shoulder for a moment before thinking better of it and stepping away from him. He looks dazed for a moment, then he flashes that dazzling white smile, the one I can't help return. 

“What are you doing anyway?” I ask, clearing my throat uneasily. “Wouldn't your mother have a cow knowing you were talking to a Seam brat like me?” 

He shrugs as if its no concern to him. “She's always having a cow about something.” 

I take a small sip of my wine and look out on the crowd. I give Peeta a sideways glance when I notice him wipe his palms on his trousers. “What's on your mind Peeta?” I ask with raised eyebrows.

“I'm just wondering what the best way to ask you to dance would be.”

“I don't dance with anyone but Prim.” I say, suddenly feeling heady. I blame the wine for making things feel a little lighter, like the world is bubbling around me. Its better than the alternative. 

“But-” he says, and there is that smile again “But I bought you wine! And I am charming!” 

“About as Charming as a stick in the eye.” 

 

“Harsh words Everdeen, and here I was thinking I made a new friend.” he says loosening his tie from around his throat. Something about watching him makes this warmth wind its way through my belly. I look away, suddenly sober.

“Peeta, you're a baker, I hunt illegally, how could we ever be friends, what do we even have in common?” 

“I think that doesn't matter so much.” 

“I'm not a very good friend.” my voice sounds far away as I think of the malice filled look Gale shot me earlier. 

“I don't think that's a true statement.” he shakes his head at me. 

“Well, you are pretty dense.” 

“I take it back, you're a terrible friend.” he snaps back and I feel a giggle bubble out of my chest. 

I am turning away from him when I catch Prim watching me as dusk begins to fall, in her pretty paisley dress, back lit by the bonfire. She smiles impishly at me. It sends a chill down my spine. I want to fold her into my arms and kiss her hair. 

“Why can't we protect the people we love?” I muse out loud to myself picking at a callous on my hand.

“We can try, but the world is cruel place, Katniss. I think we just have to carve out whatever happiness we can and hope no one is waiting to take it away.” 

I had almost forgotten Peeta was next to me. I look at him with unforgiving eyes. I want to scowl at him but he is wearing such a serious look on his face, I don't think it suits him. 

“Now how about that dance?” he asks me, holding out his hand. I look at the crowd uncertainly.

“Not one for crowds?” he asks and I shake my head. 

“I think they aren't one for me.” he nods in understanding and looks up at the sky for a moment before suddenly grabbing my hand and pulling me back towards the empty alleyway between the bakery and the shoe shop. 

When we reach the old apple tree he stops, we are shrouded in darkness, the only light is radiatating from the open backdoor of the bakery, I can hear his mothers shrill voice coming from inside. “There.” he says, holding his hand out to me. “No crowd.” 

“Peeta, this is stupid.” I say, blood rushing to my cheeks. 

“Please?” he asks, jutting out his bottom lip slightly. I'm not sure if its the puppy dog look on his face or the way his eyes seem to cut inside of me, but I take a small step closer to him. 

“I'm going to put my arm around your waist, is that okay?” he says softly, barely even a whisper and I nod. He takes a step and closes the gap between us, his hand warm on the small of my back. He forces me to look in his eyes and I nod my permission as he takes my hand in his other. The music is faded here behind the bakery but he moves his feet in rhythm while I feel unsure and I end up stepping on his foot. 

“Here.” he says with a chuckle and lifts me easily, setting me atop his feet. We move in a slow circle, my stomach sick with nerves, but he looks down at me with a soft smile and I find myself relaxing against him, forgetting for a moment that I don't belong here under this apple tree with him.

My face finds the hollow of his collarbone and with my face pressed into his shirt. I lean into him further, wondering how he can seem so breakable and strong at the same time. 

“Peeta?” I say in a frail voice and I feel his head tilt down

“Hmmm?” he replies, his eyes far away. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“About how I never imagined I would be dancing with you.” 

“Really? I'd think you'd have a wife by now, or a girlfriend?”

Peeta laughs at this, his eyes crinkling in a pleasant way. “Naw, not me.” he grows brave, twirling me once and bringing me back closer to him. 

“Why not?” I ask with genuine curiosity, the song picks up and Peeta spins us a little faster. 

“See there is this girl and I have liked her forever, but I don't think she's ever really noticed me.”

“That's a shame, I can't think of any girl in our year that didn't notice you.” 

“Oh really, you can't think of any girl?” he asked with shock 

“I mean, you were in those wrestling tournaments weren't you?” my memory of school is a little fuzzy, but I seemed to remember seeing him sitting among the other stocky boys down below the common seats. 

“I was indeed,” he seems pleased I remembered him. He has a smile on his lips and his blue eyes are bright. I seem transfixed with the way he is looking at me, as if I am a puzzle to be figured out. “Katniss?” he whispers as he leans in towards me, his breath smelling like wine. His hand around my waist pulls me close and I find myself bringing my face towards his to close the gap between us.

“What's this?” a slurred voice says from behind me and I start, as if waking from a dream. I shove Peeta away from me and whirl around to see Gale standing behind me. His shirt is disshelved and a bottle of white liquor hanging limply from his fingers.

“Hi Gale.” I whisper cautiously as the venom in his eyes bores into mine. 

“Hey Katniss.” he says in a cool voice pulling the cork from the bottle with a loud pop. “I was just coming to join the party, decided to take the back way, glad I did! Almost missed a show.” he takes a long pull from the bottle.

“Hey Hawthorne, why don't you take it easy?” Peeta asks in a tight voice, looking between us. Gale snorts at this, giving a cold chuckle.

“I think I should be finding Prim, thank you for the dance Peeta.” I say slowly, backing away from the both of them slowly, noticing how the both of them have seemed to forget that I was standing there. 

“Do you want me to walk you back to the party?” Peeta asks with a smile while Gale snorts, taking another long drag from his bottle. 

“So Mellark, How much does a trip to the slagheap cost you? What a loaf of bread?” My eyes fall to my feet with shame, of course Gale would think that. All of my blood rushes to my cheeks. 

“You're out of line.” Peeta says harshly, subtly pushing me behind him as if trying to protect me from Gale's words. I want to defend myself but my words are stuck in my mouth, tasting like offal. 

“Apologize to the lady.” Peeta demands 

“I'm just wondering Mellark, no need to get defensive, especially over a common whore.” Gale says coldly, looking pointedly at me. 

Peeta turns and looks at me as a lone, quiet tear falls from my chin. There is something there that I can't read and I look away, what he must think of me. Suddenly there is a sickening cracking noise and I look up to see Gale sprawled on the ground, the contents of his bottle spilling on the grass. Peeta shakes in hand in pain, a look of utter disgust on his face. 

I can't stand to look at either one of them, so I turn and stalk away. Gale is still sitting on the ground, clutching his nose, blood seeping from his fingers. Peeta is following after me as I reach the end of the alleyway. 

“Hey Katniss, wait up please.” 

“Go to hell, Peeta!” I shout, turning to face him abruptly. He looks hurt, running his fingers through his hair nervously. I can see the bruises forming on his knuckles, a shallow cut causing blood to run down towards his wrist. I fight the urge to grab hold of his hand to see it better. 

“I'm sorry.” he says desperately, trying to look into my eyes that flit this way and that. 

“I don't need you to defend me Peeta.” I scold, my voice sharp as a knife. “I can take care of myself, I have been for a long time.” 

“I know.” he says his voice thick with apology. I soften slightly at the look in his blue eyes, shining in the darkness like a beacon. For some reason I can't stop thinking about that day in the rain, so long ago, yet so clear in my mind. The look on his face as he watched me scramble away with the bread shoved under my jacket. I wonder if he thinks of me as something to be saved and how impossible that sounds to me. 

“I'm sorry Katniss.” he repeats uselessly.

I think of my father suddenly, his dark hair glinting in the sunlight as we sit by the lake. The smell of stagnant water is around us as he hands me a strawberry. It tastes like summertime, sweet and red, exploding against my tongue as I break the skin with my teeth. I lean against him, content in this little world we made out here. My father and I, as if we only exist together, anything else is unthinkable. How he looks at me for a moment as I smile at him, suddenly sober. 

“My little wildcat.” he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pulls me into his lap, brushing my hair from my face. 

I pull my eyebrows together seriously “What is the matter Daddy?” I put my tiny hand against his cheek and he kisses it gently.

“Promise me that you will always protect your sister.” His voice sounds scared and it confuses me, I don't understand why because he isn't scared of anything, not even the wild lions that hide among the trees and thickets. 

“I promise Daddy.” I say and he smiles into my hair, his silver eyes far away, looking past the lake.

“That's a good girl.” he whispers, kissing my temple. “You're a good girl.” 

Part of me wonders if that promise I made him so many years ago, on a summer day will be the death of me. I look over towards the bonfire licking at the night sky and all I feel is cold dread. Its almost time to go now, the party has died down significantly.

“Its an empty threat Katniss, he wouldn't dare hurt Prim.” Peeta says as if reading my mind. 

“What if it isn't Peeta?” I ask, no malice to my voice, just a weariness that makes my bones heavy. 

“There is nothing I could say to you is there?” he asks and I look at him, shaking my head slowly. 

“Peeta, you're really sweet, but I think you should find someone else to dance with in the dark, like your mystery girl perhaps.” I look up towards the sky admiring a pocket of stars that poke through the cloud cover. 

“I much prefer your two left feet.” he says with a soft smile. 

“Goodbye Peeta.” I say, turning away from him.

“Goodnight, you mean.” he states

 

I shut my eyes tight, trying to focus on my breathing and not my fathers voice, ringing through my head. “That's a good girl.” 

“Goodbye.” I say with finality, stepping up on the wooden walkway, refusing to look behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

I wait in the yellow light of the streetlamp, watching the rain falling in a torrent from the darkened sky. There are a few other girls here, waiting, vying for a chance for a few extra coins to feed their families. None of us make eye contact with each other, not wanting to see our own desperation mirrored back at us. I pull the hem of my dress down and try to focus on taking slow deep breaths, willing my panic not to come seeping out of my chest. Instead I just watch the sheet of rain that comes off the roof and hope to whoever is listening that Cray doesn't choose me tonight.

 

He enjoys keeping us waiting, taking his time with whatever he's doing in there. There are a couple of dark haired girls I recognize, one of whom I knew from school. There is a girl with caramel hair that I am guessing is what Hazelle refers to as a mixed blood, half merchant and half seam, like me. Her dark red lipstick is a striking contrast to her fair skin and gray eyes. She'd be beautiful if she wasn't so defeated looking. I have to wonder why Cray would prefer scruffy me in comparison to the likes of this girl. I barely stand at 5 foot and you can see my spine through my shirt. 

After what feels like a lifetime Cray finally comes out and walks the line of girls. He pauses when he gets to me, staring for a long time before continuing on, a few girls behind me give a sigh, some in relief, some in despair. I know he isn't done choosing yet, I hold my breath in until my lungs protest. 

“I'll take you.” Cray says pointing me, as if he doesn't know my name. I let out my breath and fall in line behind him, refusing to look any of the other girls in the eye. 

After he has shut the door behind him he turns to look at me. I remove my coat and scarf. 

“Would you like a cup of liquor?” he asks and I nod. He hands me a glass of the clear liquid and I down it in one gulp. 

“Take off your dress.” he demands, as he always does. I do as I am told, as I always do. When he kisses me this time, he does so almost tenderly, as a lover might, I imagine, I wouldn't really know of course. And when he enters me I almost don't cry, almost.

Afterward, I am laying in his bed. His arm is heavy around my waist as he clings to me, all sweaty skin and booze breath. I practice biting back the feeling of my vomit rising in my throat. I am slowly learning things about the head peacekeeper. I know he likes apple bread and wine. He enjoys those Capitol soap opera's and sleeping with one leg out of the blankets. 

After an hour I finally try to remove myself from his bed, unwinding from his arm and collecting my clothes from where they were thrown haphazardly. He wakes, reaching for his bottle. 

“Its almost morning, girl, why don't you just stay.” he offers sitting up and running his fingers down my back. He smiles when goosebumps spread across my skin. I try to hide my disgust.

“I should really go, Sir.” I mumble, pulling my dress over my head and noticing two bruises on my thighs that resemble hand prints. 

“Nonsense, Curfew hasn't been lifted yet, just stay awhile longer.” he yawns and I stare at the wall.

“I think I'll take my chances, my mother will be worried.” 

“You're a worthless bitch.” he says in a harsh voice, throwing my coat at me. 

“I know.” I say in a flat voice, noticing in the mirror how dead my eyes have turned in just the last few weeks. I grab the satchel of coins from the table by the door and step out into the pouring rain. 

I walk slowly listening to the rain pound against the rooftops, its the only sound for miles and I relish in the peace and quiet. I pass by the bakery and I can't help but stop and admire the new year's cakes in the window. For most of the people in the district New years is a time of happiness. They get their loved ones small gifts, have a meal, if they can and count themselves into a new year. For me, Its just another day, fighting to feed my family. Fighting to hold onto whatever small scraps I have left. 

The storefront is dark but the cakes are beautiful, many frosted in bright colors. The middle cake is multi-teared and has a spray of pink flowers winding its way around, all the way from top to bottom. I swallow thickly, trying not to think of Peeta and the last word I had said to him, weeks ago now. I haven't heard from Peeta or Gale since the winter festival and I hate to admit it but I have been terribly lonely, learning to adjust without my hunting partner and a friend that had wormed his way into my heart when I hadn't wanted him there in the first place. 

Damned them both, I think to myself because its easier to be mad at them than myself. If I look at the truth of it I have no one here to blame but myself, and Cray. I want to cry, I want to crumple here beneath the weight of my self pity, instead I focus on taking steps, one foot in front of the other, like its been my whole life. 

I want my father back so badly it makes my chest hurt. Instead I let the rain drench me as if it could wash away all these little indiscretions I have been living with this last month. As if I could come out of it washed clean of all this dirtiness I feel crawling beneath my skin. 

I make it home and notice that the wind chime my mother had made out of a broken bottle and bits of wood from the forest floor is whipping violently in the wind. I pass it without much thought, wondering if it might break. 

I fill a kettle and sit at the table, staring numbly until it sings. I have taken to drinking the vile tea my mother has to prevent pregnancy as soon as I get home each night and tonight is no different. 

I catch my mother watching me from the shadows and I know she knows that I caught her watching but we don't say anything to each other. She turns and heads back to bed without a word. I couldn't be more glad. 

After I have finished my tea and dried my hair my the fire I crawl into the bed and toss and turn. Finally I relent and clutch Prim's hand in mine. I almost immediately fall into a restless sleep. 

The next morning I head out into the woods early, bagging two squirrels almost immediately. If I had been anywhere else the night before I might be excited, but I haven't felt anything so grand in a long time. I also manage to find some mint in the woods and a raccoon in the snare line. 

I am almost home when I see Gale crossing the meadow, almost completely shrouded in the fog that has settled there. I hide among the treeline until he is out of view. Even if I did have the courage to speak to him I'm not sure what I would say, and it kills me. 

I fetch a good price for the raccoon and mint at the hob. I rarely come here unless I absolutely have to anymore. It seems a lot of people don't like doing business with one of Cray's girls. I can still count on Greasy Sae and Ripper to give me a good price and a soft smile. Most of the vendors however give me a cold shoulder, their eyes filled with something like malice or disappointment maybe? Its hard to tell. 

I am left with my two squirrels and I war with myself. I could sell them at the hob for a far lower price, but I am on good terms with the baker, I would hate to disappoint the man, he's always been kind to me. I also don't fancy seeing his son. 

After gathering as much courage as I can I push myself up to the back door and knock. After a few moments Peeta answers, drying his hands on his dirty apron. 

“Good morning, Katniss.” he says evenly

“Hello, Peeta.” I say curtly “Is your father home?” my eyes flit everywhere but him, trying to find a safe space to land. 

“I'm sorry, he's running an errand at the moment, is there something I might help you with?” He is nothing but polite, and it hurts, especially when I have been avoiding him as much as possible. He holds open the screen door and my eyes finally meet his. He looks like he hasn't slept in awhile, dark circles bruise the underbelly of his blue eyes. 

“I have a couple of squirrels, I thought he might want to make a trade.” I say, ignoring the open door. 

“Well, I have some danishes coming out of the oven, come inside to wait, its freezing out.” he insists and I reluctantly push passed him. 

I can hear the middle boy, Rye, manning the front and I wonder where his mother might be, I look around curiously, as many times as I have been here I have never been in the back room. There is a long work table in the middle of the room and sink that is filled with flour covered utensils. The ovens make it almost unbearably hot, but considering I have spent a better part of the morning out in the cold I can't help but relish it a little bit. 

“Have a seat.” Peeta says pulling up a chair to the work table. He puts a kettle on the stove and sets to work. He pulls a mixing bowl from the counter near the sink. He dusts the table in flour and coats his finger before plopping the contents of the bowl on the table, kneading the sticky dough with expert fingers. 

“How've you been?” He asks and gives me a smile. I open my mouth to say something but my words are stuck in my chest. 

“That's good.” he says after a few moments of silence, he gives a small chuckle. “I've been good, just working, you know... baking.” 

“Sorry.” I say lamely, standing up. “This was a bad idea, I shouldn't of come here.” his hands are still sticky with dough but he moves to block my path. 

“Don't be sorry, Katniss please, sit, the danishes will be ready soon, drink some tea.” he insists and I fall back into my chair. I move my game bag from my hip as I watch him knead his dough. There is something calming about watching him work. He is methodical and precise without even thinking about it. After a few minutes he places the dough back into the bowl to rise and turns to me. 

“So, really, how have you been?” he asks pouring me a cup of tea and setting the steaming mug in front of me. 

“Okay, I guess.” I say staring into my cup, I suddenly want to tell him everything. How lonely I've been, How I keep going to Cray, his threat constantly looming in my mind. I try to think of a futile platitude to give him but my brain seems useless. 

Its painfully, awkwardly silent and I have to do my best to keep my breathing even. Peeta is watching the grain in the wood as if trying to work up the courage to speak. 

“I'm sorry.” he gets out finally “For what happened, I know Gale is your friend, I shouldn't of hit him.” 

“He deserved it.” I say with a shrug. “He's kind of an ass.” 

“I won't disagree with you there.” he says with an easy smile. I hear a crash from somewhere upstairs and Peeta suddenly looks frazzled. His mother comes bounding down the stairs suddenly and turns to glare at us. I am already gathering my things, not wanting to get Peeta in trouble.

“What is that doing in here?” his mother asks, her graying blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head, making her already sharp features look more severe. 

“Good morning Mother, Katniss and I were just about to have some tea, why don't you pull up a chair and join us?” Peeta sounds pleasant enough but there is something mocking behind his words. I take a step toward the door. I see Peeta's mother looking between us, then her pale eyes meet mine and I can feel her hatred, years of it, boring into me. 

“Get it out of here.” she says in a deathly low voice, her hand moving subtly back, I can tell she wants to hit him.

“Mother, Katniss is my friend and I will have her over if I like.” Peeta counters in a steady voice. His hands balling into fists at his side.

“I won't have that Seam whore sitting at my table.” she snaps, venom in her voice. 

Suddenly Peeta's father emerges from the front, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder. “Peeta why don't you take Katniss to the sweetshop. I need to speak with your mother.” he says in a gentle voice. Peeta takes my elbow and leads me out the door, not stopping until we reach the alleyway. I want to remove my elbow from his grasp but the look on his face stills me. He looks like he might cry, or punch something.

“I'm sorry.” he says finally, releasing me to run a hand through his hair. In our hasty retreat he has forgotten his jacket and goosebumps have gathered on the skin of his arms. I resist an urge to run my hands down his shoulders. I have to remember that we aren't friends, we can't be. 

“Its okay, I'm used to it.” I say with a shrug, moving my game bag up my shoulder.

“No, its not okay, no one should speak to you in that manner.” he spits as it begins to sprinkle. “No one should speak to anyone like that.” he says sadly. 

He watches the rain for a moment before motioning towards the sidewalk. “Come on then.” he says, his other hand touching the small of my back for a moment, the warmth from his hand lingering longer than I like. 

We wander around the sweetshop for awhile, he even manages to make me laugh with an chocolate rabbit, which he is convinced looks like our third year arithmetic teacher. We ignore the people staring as he buys me a brightly colored disc of candy. I tuck it in my pocket for Prim and we walk the sidewalk, admiring the displays in the store windows. The rain is coming down in earnest now, large puddles beginning to form in the square. People dashing here and there, trying to avoid getting wet.

Peeta watches the rain, leaned against a wall with his hands shoved in his pants pocket. We stand in comfortable silence for awhile, listening to the rain pelt against the ground. 

“Peeta, why are you here with me?” I ask suddenly and he seems taken back.

“What do you mean?” his eyebrows knit together softly

“I mean, you could have any girl in the district? Why are you standing in the rain with me?” 

“I don't want any girl in the district.” he moves to lean against the railing next to me, giving a merchant woman who is openly staring at us a wide smile. 

“Right, your girl.” I say a tight feeling in my chest that is digging into my ribcage. “Why don't you try to court her?” I hope my voice sounds light.

“I hope to, someday, she's very intimidating to be honest, and I don't think she wants to get married, to anyone.” I nod in understanding, marriages lead to children and children lead to reapings, reapings lead to heartache. Nothing good lies down that path. 

“Then you marry someone else.” I state as he hands me the candy he bought for himself. 

“No, I don't think so.” he says sadly as I try to hand him the candy back but he bumps my shoulder with his. “I knew you'd save yours for Prim.” I relent and pop the tiny yellow disc in my mouth and the sweetness explodes against my tongue.

“Why not marry someone else?” I notice a gaggle of merchant kids whispering behind their hands, pointing at me by the butchers and I let out a sigh.

“I don't know, I guess I don't want to settle.” he is quiet a moment, sticking his fingers out to get drenched with rain. “Also, I think it might be the worst torture in the world, watching someone you love, love someone else, I wouldn't want to do that to anyone.” He brings his hand to my face, pushing a tendril of hair out of my eyes. 

I look away from him quickly thinking I might do something crazy if I stare into his eyes any longer. I take a step back and take in a deep lungful of air, anything to get the smell of his raindrop soaked fingers away from me. “You know your mother was engaged to my father.” he says after a moment, I look back up at him in shock.

“You're lying.” I spit, an image of my father in the kitchen with my mother playing in my mind. He has his arms circled around her middle, kissing a spot of skin behind her ear. 

“Its true.” he says with a chuckle. “Before she ran off with a coal miner.” I had never given my mothers youth much thought, to be honest. I hear she was a sight to be seen back in the day. Its hard to imagine when all I can see is that hollowed out woman staring at nothing in the months after my father died. 

“She loved my father, and he loved her.” he says softly with a smile. “But she loved James Everdeen more, or so I hear.” Peeta whispers. “Because when he sang even the birds stopped to listen.” 

“Yeah, they did.” I say weakly a memory flashing across my vision. Its a warm spring day and I am on my fathers shoulders as we move through the forest. My braid is still damp from my swimming lesson and my fathers satchel is full of bird eggs and katniss tubers. My chin is resting on the crown of his head as he begins to sing, lulling me towards sleep as all the birds suddenly still, in rapt attention. Slowly, they start his melody moving among the trees, some taking flight, fluttering up towards the sun, freer than I could ever hope to be. 

The pounding rain pulls me out of my memory and into another one. A day so like this one, when a boy threw a loaf of bread towards me, and saved my life, in more ways than one. 

Peeta is watching me with guarded eyes, leaning towards me as if he might kiss me. 

“No.” I whisper, and he shuts his eyes, resting his forehead against mine. I step away from him, wanting to run and forcing myself to stand as tall as I can. 

“I told you goodbye.” I accuse, pulling on my braid. 

“You came to see me, remember?” his voice sounds harsh but not angry.

“We can't be friends.” I snap

“So you keep saying Katniss.” he sounds weary, scrubbing his face with his hand. 

“I mean why would you even want to be my friend?” My voice comes out angrier than I meant. 

He is silent for awhile, refusing to look at me. “I mean come on Peeta, You want your girl, not me, not someone who is all used up.” Tears are welling up in my eyes. “I'm damaged.” 

“Quit talking about yourself like you are some broken thing to be fixed.” Peeta growls, taking a step towards me. “You're a human being, not some toy, not something to be used and thrown away.” I can feel the heat of stares all around us and only now notices that we are practically yelling at each other, our bodies taking up space on the tiny walkway. “I'm Seam, Peeta, I was made to be thrown away. Cray won't let me forget it.” I turn away from him, prepared to walk away, he grabs me by the elbow, turning me to face him. 

“Listen to me Katniss.” he says softly, but I raise my hand to stop him, my fingers brushing his lips. 

“Just shut up Peeta.” a tear falls down my face. “Please.” I ask in a broken voice, I push him away and force myself not to look behind me, not even once. 

As I walk home I make the decision that I will only trade at the hob from now on. 

Prim is sitting by the fire petting that old tom cat of hers. My mother does needlepoint on the couch. “Hey.” Prim says softly, not wanting to meet my eyes, it seems like lately she never does anymore.

I don't say anything to her as I pass her by. I grab the kitchen sheers and stumble toward the bathroom. I stare at myself for a long time in the mirror before I take the sheers to the middle of my braid, it comes off cleanly in my hand. I look at myself in the mirror, I force myself to pick my features apart. My high cheekbones and slivered almond eyes, my pert nose and full lips. I want to cut them up make them unrecognizable somehow. I want to look different, I want to be different. I raise the scissors to the skin on my nose, feeling the cold metal sit heavy. All I have to do is press down. 

I throw them away from me as if they have scalded me, they land with a clatter in the sink. A noise comes from the back of my throat, something primal shoots through me. I shake my head and let my hair fall around my shoulders. I try to focus on taking slow, deep lungfuls of air, slowly the tightness in my chest eases slightly. 

I hide in my room until its time to leave again. 

The Seam is quiet after nightfall and I am so thankful. The clouds have parted and a moonlight and streams through, little pockets of stars shine down and I admire them absentmindedly as I walk. It makes for a better view than the coal dust coated shacks and dirty snow. The closer I get to town the brighter it becomes as houses are lit up with electricity, every time I enter the square I immediately miss the candlelight that reminds me of home. 

I wait with the other girls, leaned up against the shoe shop, picking at my nails. Cray comes out and we all stand at the attention he demands. As usual he looks me up and down before moving on, as if we are cattle in a crowded marketplace. Thankful, he doesn't have the taste for me tonight and picks the caramel haired girl from the night before. I expect to feel relief, but I mourn for her, I hope he doesn't hurt her too badly. 

I walk slowly, not eager to go home but not wanting to stay here either. I notice Peeta is sitting on the stoop of the bakery a sketchpad on his lap and his head down. I don't think he has noticed me so I try to slip behind the butchers garbage bins at the mouth of the alley. 

“You know you can't avoid me forever.” he says, not bothering to look up at me. 

“I can try.” I reply weakly and he smiles as if I have said something extremely funny. 

“You certainly can.” he agrees and looks up at me finally, I can't help but gasp. He bites his lip at the expression on my face, looking almost sheepish. His right eye is black and swollen, a small cut on his eyebrow. 

“What did she do?” I say angrily, my feet moving towards him of their own accord. 

“What this?” he asks motioning towards his face and shrugging as if it is the most inconsequential thing in the world. “I've had worse than this.” I think about that day in the rain, the boy beaten for giving me bread. I swallow thickly and as I reach him, I kneel next to him, touching his eye with gentle fingers. He winces and moves away from my hands. Shadows cover his face.

“Let me see.” I demand in a stern voice and he moves back toward the light, grumbling under his breath slightly, I think I might hear the word stubborn. 

I reach out to touch it and he recoils again. “Stop moving dammit!” I yell as my fingers probe the wound. “What happened?” I demand, as if I don't know already. 

“I got into a fight with a rolling pin and lost.” he says evenly, “Hey, you cut your hair.” I only now look him in the eyes and see something approaching wonder. “I've never seen it down before.” 

I tuck my hair behind my ear and straighten myself. “Its nothing,” 

I study his face for a moment before I have to turn away, disgust towards his mother threatening to consume me. “You should come see my mother, she has something that can help with the swelling.” 

I am halfway down the walkway when I notice he is still sitting right where I left him staring after me. 

“Come on.” I command and he sets his sketchbook down inside before running to catch up with me. We walk in silence for a while before he clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Its because of me, isn't it? That's why she hit you.” I blurt out before he can say anything else.

“She hit me because she's a bitter, old shrew Katniss, not because of you.” He huffs, his breath silver against the cold, winter air. 

“She was mad about me being in the bakery, wasn't she?” I won't let him off the hook that easily. 

His silence is answer enough for me. “I told you we can't be friends.” He lets out a groan at my words.

“Then why are you insisting that I come to the Seam with you Katniss?” I open my mouth and snap it shut again. His question ringing through my head. “No really? Why? Is it pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Poor little baker kid whose Mother hits him.” His voice is rising with anger and I don't like it. “Is it guilt? Are you bored? What Katniss, please tell me what you are thinking?” I want to yell right back at him but his voice cracks at his last word, making him sound like a small child. 

“I-I don't know.” I stammer, a lump forming in my throat. 

“Well let me know when you figure it out.” he snaps and we stand looking at each other for a moment before he turns to stalk back towards town. I want to chase after him, but my stubborn feet refuse to move. 

“Fine!” I shout “Fix your eye up your own damned self!” I press the back of my hand to my lips and watch as he disappears from view. 

I slip into my room unnoticed and lay down, Prim facing away from me in the bed. How I wish she was still small, so I could tuck her against me and protect her from the moonlight that spills from the window. My arms feel heavy with loneliness. 

I awaken in the morning and she is already gone. I let out a sigh before climbing from the warm flannel sheets and into the cold morning air. I step out into the frozen daylight, noticing how a few shingles on the roof are coming loose. I almost walk right passed a small, lightly wrapped package on a old broken chair that sits next to the door. 

I untie the twine that holds its together and I move back the wax paper. A small cupcake, frosted in green with tiny yellow sugar flowers. It reminds me of the woods and I can't help but give a smile, tucking it carefully into my bag, intending to keep it entirely for myself.


	5. Chapter 5

Pale moonlight is streaking in through the drapes of my room, casting strange shadows on the creaky floorboards. I sit and watch Prim sleep soundly, her face as lovely as a raindrop. I am dressed and ready to leave but I can't seem to make my feet move. I brush my sisters fair hair away from her face and wonder if I am doomed to live this life of dullness forever. For a moment I want to wake her and tell her every secret I have been keeping from her, but the look of peace on her face stills me. She seems so far away, like no amount of words, no amount of love could ever bring her back to me. I feel like there is something caught in the middle, between us, I can't seem to reach her. 

I finally use all my strength to stand, straightening my coat and dress before I step out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as I can behind me. I catch myself in a mirror that my mother hung in the hallway above a small tin likeness of my father. I look nearly unrecognizable to myself. I have filled out a bit, my cheeks not so sallow, and my hips not so sharp. My lips are set in a deep frown and my eyes have this listless quality to them that I can't seem to shake. I touch the etching of my father with my fingertips, wondering when I started favoring my mother more, with her hollow eyes and empty stares. 

“Happy new year.” I whisper to the mirror before turning away. 

The girls are waiting at their usual spot and I fall in line. The Caramel haired girl, who I have since learned is named Harlow offers a small smile as I move to stand next to her. All I hear is breathing as we stand and wait, my eyes flitting over to the bakery of their own accord. I wonder if Peeta is safe in his bed, warm under the blankets or if he is laying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering about a girl who is faceless to me. I wonder if he ever thinks of me on cold nights when sleep eludes him. 

I haven't seen much of him since the night we had our spat. I go out of my way to avoid the bakery, afraid of what his mother might do if she caught me hanging around. I did catch a look at him as Prim and I walked to the grocers, the bruise on his face turned a sickly yellow in healing. I had to swallow my guilt and train my eyes to the walkway as Prim made a show of waving to him through the window. 

Cray comes out, and after parading around in front of us, points at me and without a word turns on his heel. I follow with my head feeling heavy. Some of the girls shoot me looks of contempt before dispersing, I just hang my head, too tired to match their glares with one of my own. 

Cray isn't in a good mood, he snaps at me to remove my clothes and after I do so, pushes me roughly to my knees. I shut my eyes as I hear the soft jingle of his belt being removed. I keep my eyes shut the entire time, as he grunts from behind me, yanking my hair and digging his nails into my thigh. It hurts but at least its quick and he is pulling his pants up before I know it. At least I didn't have to look at him this time. “Stay here tonight Katniss.” he insists with slurred words as he turns on his television set, leaning back on his couch as I pull up my trousers.

“Maybe some other time, Sir.” I struggle to pull up my pants. He gives me a hard look with fuzzy, drunk eyes. 

“I said to stay, girl, what part of you doesn't understand that!” he shouts and I flinch. 

“I would Sir, but my mother will be worried.” I struggle to get the words out. He just snorts, taking a long pull from his white liquor bottle. 

He stands suddenly, gripping my shoulders hard. “Do you understand who I am Katniss?” I nod as he pushes me down on the couch. 

“I am the man that keeps you from the stocks, or worse, the firing squad.” its a thinly veiled threat. He has the power here, not me. “I can have anyone I want.” He says running his fingers down my cheek as I turn away from him, trying to hide my disgust. “I can take anyone I want.” he adds in a whisper. 

“It would really be a shame if someone caught you outside the fence, poaching holds the severest of punishments, then who would protect your precious little sister?” I feel my face crumpling as his fingers grip my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. 

“Now get in my bed and wait for me.” he demands, pushing me to the floor. I do as I am told, telling myself the whole time that I am not allowed to cry. Not here, not now. 

Its almost dawn when he comes to bed, so drunk he can barely stand and when he kisses me his lips have the sour taste of expensive Capitol liquor. And when he is finished with me he pulls me to him, as if he hadn't forced me here. As if I am a lover, not a prisoner. 

He pets my hair gently as he is lulled into sleep. “You look lovely with your hair down.” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. I can't help but think of Peeta and the soft smile he offered when he noticed that I cut my hair. 

“Thank you Sir.” I say numbly as his breath grows even with sleep. 

I collect my things as soon as curfew is lifted at seven. I hadn't thought that the square would be just waking up, the merchant class bustling around, getting ready for New years tomorrow, when all the shops will be closed. I let out a sigh before looking over at Cray whose fast asleep, naked in his bed, only covered in a bed sheet. No use putting it off any longer, I step out into the sunlight, frost still clinging to the ground from the bitter cold night, making everything around me glitter. I move through town as quickly as possible, ignoring Haymitch Abernathy as he watches me from a wall, a bottle of booze hanging limply from his hand. He takes a swig, his eyes never leaving me. He offers me a wave, knowing I've caught him staring. 

“Mornin' Sweetheart.” he says in a grim voice.

“Fuck you.” I spit, picking up my pace. I avoid looking in the bakery window as I practically run home. 

Prim is getting ready for school as I rush through the door, out of breath and sore. She stills as soon as she sees me, a schoolbook in her hand. “Where have you been?” she asks in a steady voice, already knowing the answer, I ignore the question as she shrugs into her coat. 

“You're going to school awful early.” I observe leaning back against the door. 

“Rory is helping me study for a test.” her voice seems so cold, so unlike my sweet sister. 

“Well, learn lots.” I say as she kisses my cheek, her eyes seeming a million miles away. 

“Have a good day, Katniss.” she says in a flat voice before shutting the door behind her. 

After I drink my tea, I work on my chores, I clean the dishes and dust shelves. I even fix the loose shingles on the roof before exhaustion takes over and I fall into a restless sleep. 

I awake in the early afternoon to a knock at the door. My mother is out with a patient, so I begrudgingly answer and find a pair of blue eyes looking at me. 

“Hello Katniss.” Peeta smiles, a book tucked in the crook of his arm. 

“Hello Peeta.” I say in a careful voice, my lips setting into a hard line. 

“Don't act so excited to see me.” he quips, running his hand through his hair, like he tends to do when he is nervous, or so I have noticed. 

I huff out a breath with frustration. “What do you want?” 

“I thought maybe we would take advantage of this nice day and sit outside. I promised to help you with your reading, remember?” he holds up the book as if to prove his point. I have a thousand excuses ready. Truth is, I am sure he heard about be spending the night at Crays last night, any number of nosy Bakery patrons saw me leaving this morning. I wonder if Peeta himself saw from the Bakery window. 

I think he senses my hesitancy and clears his throat. “Listen Katniss, I'm sorry about our fight.” 

I shrug my shoulders and take the book from him. “The cupcake was really good.” I relent, grabbing my coat and shutting the door behind me. Making an effort not to look at the healing bruise that somehow makes his blue eyes brighter.

I take Peeta to the meadow and he leans back in the scraggly, yellow grass as I read from his book, he shuts his eyes but I can tell he is listening by the way he smiles when I reach a certain passage or the way he corrects me gently when I mispronounce a word. I find myself actually liking the poetry in the book. After a few hours Peeta sits up suddenly, pulling the book from my fingers and letting it fall shut. 

“I think you should go on a date with me.” he rushes out, struggling to keep his face nonchalant. My voice is caught in my throat instantly. I can think of any number of excuses to give him, but he has a dead leaf stuck in his blonde curls and despite my surprise I laugh. 

“Not the response I was hoping for Everdeen.” He says deflating a bit. I shake my head and pull the leaf from his hair, crumbling it between my fingers, letting the afternoon breeze pick the pieces up and carry them off. 

“There is a small get together that one of my friends is having for New years tomorrow night and I would really like you to come with me, as my date.” I don't answer right away. I try to tell him no, that taking me out is a waste of time. Dates lead to marriage and marriage leads to children. I rest my chin on my knee and look out past the fence. 

“Or we could do something else if you want.” he says quietly, his voice has a disappointed quality as if I already said no. It catches me off guard, I am used to his cockiness, his boldness. I don't know this flustered, nervous boy sitting next to me. 

“I don't know Peeta, a bunch of merchant kids? I won't exactly fit in.” 

“Other people will be there too.” he says, brightening slightly. I lean forward and brush some dead grass from the shoulder of his jacket. 

“Alright, I guess.” and a wide smile illuminates his face. 

“Really?” He asks

“I said I would.” I scowl, wondering if he really thinks that I would go back on my word. 

With that I grab the book from him and find my place, beginning right where I left off. 

Its late afternoon when Peeta walks me home, after a short distance he shyly slips his warm hand into mine. It might be this tight, not entirely unwelcome feeling in my gut, or maybe its the warmth of the unseasonably warm sun, but whatever the reason, I allow it. Tangling my fingers in his, he says nothing, refusing to look me in the eye, but he smiles and I find it warms my core. 

When we reach my door he insists that he will be here at four to pick me up tomorrow. I nod, suddenly nervous about agreeing to go on a date with him. We sit in silence on my porch steps both of us fidgeting. When he suddenly leans forward, eyes locked with mine, He makes slow movements as if he is scared that I might disappear at any moment. His head tilts to the side and I find myself leaning toward him, rather than away. 

The front door suddenly opens and we both scramble away from each other, he clears his throat loudly and smiles at my sister who is smirking down at us. “Good afternoon Peeta.” My sister says her eyebrows raised. 

“Impeccable timing Primrose, how are you today?” I suddenly feel the need to stand. I can't seem to meet my sisters knowing gaze so I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. 

“How was your test?” I ask her, my cheeks flooding with color. 

“I think I did well.” She says with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“I guess I should go get dinner ready, How does Rabbit stew sound little duck?” I ask and she nods, not taking her eyes off Peeta. Peeta stands and bids us both goodnight, whistling as he walks up the road towards town. 

Prim studies me as I busy myself in the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. “What was that about?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

“I don't know what you mean.” I say in an innocent tone but the look on her face tells me she doesn't believe me.

“You were about to kiss Peeta Mellark on our front porch.” she teases with a smile. 

“Oh I was not!” I shout, trying my best to focus on the parsnips I am slicing. She comes over to stand next to me.

“Its nothing to be ashamed of, Katniss.” she runs her fingers through my hair, the most intimate gesture we have shared in weeks. It fills me with a sudden warmth, I hadn't realized just how much I have missed my sweet little sister. “He's such a nice man.” 

“I'm going out with him tomorrow.” I say suddenly dropping my knife to look her in the face. “I don't know what to do.” I rush out, pushing my hair out of my face. And leaning back against the ice box.

“What do you mean?” Prim asks, running her fingers down my arm. 

“I've never been on a date before!” suddenly it feels like my chest might explode, I'm having trouble catching my breath. My sister laughs at me and I glare at her. “I mean, what do I wear?”

“You really like him, don't you?” My sister asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Come on, I'll help you pick something out.” After I set the stew to cook I follow my sister to our closet as she leafs through our meager supply of dresses, and each one I deny. All of them have been tainted by nights with Cray. 

“Well,” she says, her eyebrows knotting together. “Looks like we will have to pick you something out.” She pulls on her boots and drags me to the door.

“Where do you girls think your going?” my mother asks from where she stands in the kitchen. 

“Katniss has a date!” Prim exclaims excitedly and my mother drops the paper she was looking at on the table. 

“What? With whom?” my mother asks in an incredulous tone.

“Peeta Mellark!” I smack her arm lightly and try to read my mothers face. I see the hint of a smile on her face. “We need to get her a new dress.” 

“We don't have that kind of money Prim.” I scold, its true that since I've been going to Cray I've had a few extra coins but I have been hoarding them desperately, saving some for Prim's upcoming birthday and a small new years gift for her and my mother. The rest for reserves of canned food and other things we may need. 

“Nonsense, This is important.” Prim pushes me out the door. “You're important.” she adds quietly, practically dragging me towards the Hob. The clothing vendor is getting ready to close for the evening but agrees to let us go through her dresses. 

Prim finally finds a dress made of worn silk, celery green and soft as a rose petal. She holds it up to me and lets out a soft noise at the back of her throat. “Oh Katniss, it's beautiful.” I turn to look at myself in a coal stained mirror. It falls to just above my knee and the neckline dips lower than any of my other dresses. I have to admit the color brings out the silver glint in my eyes and my hair looks almost dark blue against it. I look like a lady, as pretty as any merchant girl. 

Prim hands the vendor some coins and she wraps the dress in parchment to keep it clean of coal dust. I clutch it to my chest, realizing this is the first dress I've ever owned that no one else has worn but me. 

I eat dinner feeling lighter than I have in a while and as Prim readies for bed I am brought down by the impending darkness, its almost time to leave. 

“You don't have to go.” Prim says, studying me as I stare out the window. I shake my head as I watch the sun dip below the horizon. I stand slowly and smile down at her.

“I do, little duck.” 

“I don't understand.” she says flatly. Crays voice rings through my head. “Then who would protect your precious sister?” I swallow thickly. I want to tell her how he threatened her. Maybe it would fill her with understanding, maybe it would mend this rift growing between us. It would also fill her with guilt, and I couldn't do that to her. Better to keep my mouth shut. 

“Go to sleep, duck.” I kiss her forehead and head to the living room to wait. She turns away from me and I feel her resentment boiling over filling the empty spaces between us. 

My mother doesn't say much as I head out the door. She just stares out from the kitchen and I want to yell at her to wipe that emptiness from her face. I just want her to come save me, but she can't, no one can. 

“Goodnight.” I spit as I shut the door behind me. 

When Cray picks me I risk a look around and notice Harlow watching me with an intense expression on her face. Her hair is pinned in an intricate updo and her lips are painted the color of blood. As I pass her she grabs my wrist, looking at me sympathetically as I move away from her with out a word. 

Cray removes his jacket and hangs it carefully. I stand in the doorway and he suddenly turns and strikes my face with the back of his hand. I fall against the floor, rubbing my stinging cheek. “What was that for?” I ask flatly.

“Just reminding you of your place, whore.” he says in a cool voice. I move to get up. “Stay where you are!” he demands as I fall back on my knees. He moves himself toward me removing his belt. I swallow thickly as his pants drop around his ankles. 

“Someone told me they saw you with the Baker's son today.” I feel cold dread in the pit of my stomach. I don't move and I don't dare breathe. 

“You'd do well to remember whose bed you come to at night, Miss Everdeen.” I nod, my throat constricting, my mouth going dry.

“Whose bed?” he asks in a stern voice.

“Yours, Sir.” I whisper softly.

“What?” he says loudly, though I know he heard me. 

“Your bed, Sir.” I force out louder and he nods with a smile, please by the look on my face.

“Good girl, now get to work.” he spits out.

He lets me leave early tonight, on account of New years. I am crossing the square when I notice Peeta waiting for me on the stoop with his sketchbook. I stop in the middle of the square and watch him. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” he says without looking up at me. I suddenly feel dizzy and exhausted. I just want to go home. 

When he looks up at me, he stands quickly, pulling me towards him, I fight it at first but when the smell of him hits me I fall slack and let him wrap his arms around me, the smell of cinnamon and dill calming me. He wipes my eye with the pad of his thumb. I hadn't even realized I had started crying. I sob against him as he rubs comforting circles in my back with his hand. 

I lean against his collarbone, letting my tears soak his shirt. After my crying has turned into soft hiccups I try to move, apologize, but it seems I am locked in place as he runs his fingers through my hair, murmuring soothing things to me. When I finally have the energy to move I step away. I can't meet his eyes, so I stare at the ground, his hands have laced with mine. “Peeta?” I say with a crack in my voice.

“Yes Katniss?” he asks, his voice rough as he runs a thumb over mine.

“Would you mind walking me home?” my voice breaks 

“I'd be happy to.” he states, pulling me towards the road that takes me home. We walk in silence, but for the first time in months I don't feel entirely alone. His hand warm in mine I find myself leaning against him, letting the steadiness that seems to radiate from him flood into me. Suddenly my knees want to give out and they buckle beneath me, but Peeta catches me, walking me over to a small rock that sits at the side of the dirt road. He sits next to me, letting me lean against him. 

“I don't understand.” I echo Prim's words from earlier. I sound like a child, my voice soft and plaintive.

“What do you mean?” Peeta asks, running the pad of his thumb down my cheek

“Why do you like me?” 

“Because,” he lets a pregnant pause slip between his words and I fear he can't think of anything. “Because,” he starts over “You're really brave and strong, yet somehow you are still caring and although I think you spend a good deal of your time glaring, your smiles might be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.” 

“I'm nothing.” I state, my voice flat.

“Don't you dare say that ever again, Katniss Everdeen.” He scolds, running a hand through my hair. 

 

“Do you think that I could just sit here and hold your hand?” I ask in a broken voice. “just for a little while?” 

Peeta nods, making a show of re-knotting our fingers together in front of us. “Sure, I'd like that.” he says with a smile as I lean my head against his shoulder,and he grows bold, pressing a kiss into my forehead. I shut my eyes and smile, dreading the moment when I have to let go of his hand.


	6. Chapter 6 part 1

By the time two thirty falls I am a mess of nerves as my mother boils me a bath. She even pulls out soap that smells like lilac and lemongrass, a relic of her merchant days, and after I am toweled off she pulls my hair into a simple bun, pulling free a few tendrils of hair to frame my face. Prim has pulled my dress out and lets it sit in the steam to smooth the wrinkles from the silk. 

I pull in on over my head and stare at myself clean and brushed. The girl who stares back at me is a stranger. I don't know this girl at all. My mother stares at me as I watch her from the mirrors reflection. She comes to stand next to me, placing a calculated hand on my shoulder. “I have something.” I shoot her a distrustful glance as she pulls out a hairpin and holds it out for my inspection. Its a lovely floral design, quite simple really, but nicer than anything I have ever worn.

“I was my mother's.” Mother explains, slipping it in my hair with a flourish. “Now its yours.” 

I remember being a small child, watching my mother preserve strawberries at the stove as I hid behind her skirts. Her eyes trail down to me as she slips me a strawberry. She tries to smile, but it never quite reaches her eyes, I have noticed it doesn't unless father is home. Her eyes slide toward the vacant meadow though his homecoming is hours away. She can't help herself, her smiles are always saved for him. 

I can't help but wonder about my grandparents, living a comfortable life in town while their daughter and grandchildren starved to death slowly just a half a mile away. I hope I never meet them, I hope they never speak my name.

“Thank you.” I say between my gritted teeth as my mother moves away, the warmth of her hand is gone now. 

“You look beautiful.” she says with her back turned, I think she might be smiling, I can't tell.

Its only a half past three and I am wringing my hands all of my energy spent. Prim is sitting on the couch with her school books admiring the bolt of blue wool that I bought for her as a new years gift, it will make a warm coat. Finally she sighs and orders me to sit. 

“You're wearing a hole in the carpet!” she says with an exasperated sigh. 

“What do I even say?” it comes out as a shout as I sit frustratedly. 

“What do you normally talk about?” Prim asks carefully 

“I don't know.” I struggle to pull a coherent thought from my panic as Prim laughs at me. “Mostly I just yell at him.” 

“Maybe you should try being a little nicer.” she shrinks under my glare before straightening her shoulders. “Maybe you should ask about him.” she suggests with a helpful tone. “Just let him talk.”

“I can do that.” I swallow and nod as she kisses my cheek. She nestles her nose into my neck as I begin to hum an old hymn that my father used to sing to her. I shut my eyes and let the noise calm me. Before I know it there is a knock at the door, all of the breath goes out of me in a rush. Prim jumps up to answer the door but I knock her out of the way gently as she giggles from behind the door. 

“Hey.” Peeta says shyly, running a hand through his neatly combed hair, jarring his curls out of place. 

“Um, hi.” I say nervously as I spy a small wrapped package in his hand. He follows the line of my sight. 

“Cookies.” he explains holding the wax paper up. I open the door a little wider and he steps up into the house, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I can't help but furrow my brows together. “They're for me.” He explains quickly and I can't hide my confusion as he laughs

“Actually, one is for Prim and one is for your mother.” He reaches around me to hand the package to Prim who squeals in delight. 

“Let's get on with it then.” I grind out, already annoyed with him for no good reason really. I grab my fathers jacket from the coat rack by the door. 

“Katniss Everdeen!” Mother scolds from the kitchen, I ignore her, tipping my chin up as I pat Prim on the chin.

I am halfway across the yard when I realize that Peeta is watching me from the porch. 

“What?” 

“You look lovely.” he says with a wide smile and I fidget with the hem of my dress nervously, only now taking in the smart blue button up and black slacks Peeta is wearing. His boots still have a streak of flour and his pants are help up by suspenders that accentuate his shoulders and how broad they are. I finally meet his eyes, a flush creeping up my neck.

“You don't look so bad yourself.” I say in a husky voice as his lips quirk up.

“What was that?” he asks

“I said, you don't look so bad yourself.” I say a little louder

“Oh, I heard you.” he says brushing past me. “I just wanted you to say it again.” He turns around to wink at me.

Its bitter cold and I pull my fathers coat tighter. In the dying January light Peeta tangles his fingers with mine as we walk from the Seam to town. I am surprised when he doesn't lead me towards town but up the worn path towards the slag heap. I feel an empty feeling gnaw at my gut and just when I am about to protest he is pulling me towards the mayors house. 

My eyebrows knit together and I open my mouth, shutting it tight. “Are you alright?” Peeta asks with a smirk.

“Why didn't you tell me that your dinner was at Madge's house?” I ask in a tight voice. Peeta suddenly looks contrite.

“Is that a problem? I thought you guys were friends.” his voice is timid, he shoves his hands in his pockets only to remove them quickly.

“Its no problem.” I get out promptly “I was just surprised, I guess.” he nods and in a quick movement as the door is opening he presses a kiss into my hair. Suddenly, my heart is fluttering against my ribcage like a bird trapped against a windowpane. All of my air caught in my trachea uselessly. 

Peeta squeezing my fingers in his brings me back to reality. A young seam girl in a gray uniform is ushering us inside, asking for our coats. I shake my head, wrapping my fathers jacket around me tighter. It hasn't been out of my sight since I don't know when, I won't start now. 

She gives me a curt nod and leads us toward a dusty looking dining room. I look at the other people in the room warily. A group of young Merchant boys are standing about. Calix Coolridge, a brutish boy with a mop of near white hair stands next to Peeta's brother Rye. Rye looks downright bored his blue eyes brighten however, when he sees Peeta, giving him a wink as Peeta blushes furiously. The sight makes me smile, despite the fact I can feel everyone's eyes on me. 

I spot Delly Cartwright and Lessa Valentine near the kitchen with a few other girls but I have to say, this party is predominately male. I squirm a little and Peeta wraps his hand about my waist. 

“Peeta! Katniss! Its wonderful to see you!” Delly makes a beeline toward me and I groan inwardly. I have no interest in the frizzy haired shoemakers daughter but Peeta greets her like an old friend. In true Delly fashion she insists on hugging me, personal space not being a problem for her apparently. I slip from her grasp and tell Peeta I am going to find Madge. Grateful to be away from Delly's incessant chatter.

As I am rounding the corner I hear Lessa Valentine and her friends laughing and my name being thrown around. I straighten my shoulders and ignore them, in true Katniss Everdeen fashion. 

I find Madge in the kitchen her head poked out the back door. She is speaking in a hushed whisper and I can't see who she is speaking to. I step out of the shadow and she spins around. Haymitch Abernathy stands on the other side. Madge wrinkles a clean white paper that is in her hands.

“Good Evening Katniss.” she says, her voice quavering only slightly as she hands the paper to Haymitch and shuts the door in his face before he can say anything. I raise my eyebrows in question. 

“The old drunk.” she says with an airy laugh. I expect her to say more but she leaves it at that. She pulls out a bottle of wine and pours herself a glass before offering one to me. I shake my head and she shrugs, filling her glass to the top and setting the bottle in the wastebin near her feet.

“How've you been?” I ask and she shrugs taking a long drink, her pink lipstick leaving a stain on the crystal glass. Its been years since Madge and I sat together at the lunchtables at school. She often got stuck with me for school projects or gym. Neither one of us had many friends. 

“My father is forcing me to marry.” she says after a pregnant pause, her eyes watching the floorboards, her face crumpling for the briefest of moments. “For the good of the district, He says.” she doesn't elaborate and I don't ask, the look in her eyes could crush the moon, if only she had the strength. Peeta comes in and I watch him for a long second. 

He greets Madge quietly and she tilts her head in acknowledgment. He can feel the tension in the room and laughs shakily. 

“Doesn't Katniss look lovely, Madge?” 

“Indeed.” she whispers, but her eyes are far away.

Dinner is as delicious as it is dull, roast duck in a thick gravy and soft, fluffy potatoes. The Mayor joins us, trying to goad Madge into conversation. She gives short, clipped answers and spears her duck with her fork angrily. People seem to keep their snide remarks quiet, none of them reaching Peeta's ears. 

Peeta keeps his conversation mostly to me. He whispers in my ear often, mostly jokes at Calix and Lessa's expense, while they really aren't unkind. The normally kind Mayor seems a bit off put by my presence. I have a feeling it has less to do with me and more to do with Peeta and the fact he seems to have all of his attention focused on me.

Peeta and I are walking home when we pass the bakery. “Stay right here.” he says quickly as he slips inside before I can answer. I wait for a while and I am considering walking home when he comes back out with a basket in the crook of his arm.

“What is that?” I ask warily as he waggles his eyebrows at me.

“You didn't think that dinner was our date did you?” I shrug my shoulders and bite my lip.

“Everdeen, you'd think you would know me better than that.” 

We make our way to a rock that juts out of the scraggly grass in the meadow. He pulls a blanket from his basket and spreads it out on the ground, motioning for me to sit next to him. I fall to my knees as he pulls a cookie from his breastpocket. Its still warm, steam running off it in the cold evening air. He hands it to me and I shove it in my mouth, burning my tounge. It tastes like cinnamon and sugar and all these things that seem to remind me of Peeta.

He laughs and brushes a crumb off my cheek, his hand stilling for a moment. I take in a long breath. I feel like I have, in the matter of a few months been hopelessly entangled with this boy. As his hand presses against me, my face falling into his palm. I feel as if all of the stress and worry from this winter is melting away. 

I think I could love him, though the thought sends panic shooting up my spine because I know the truth of this world, it isn't despair or heartache or even death that will ruin us. Its love, and hope. Peeta Mellark is sure to be the death of me, and I of him. 

He leans towards me, and I know he will kiss me. I lean back as his forehead comes to rest on mine. “Come on.” he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek. I can't help but shifting towards him. He has these long eyelashes and his eyes were looking at me just so. I couldn't help kissing him anymore than the mockingjays could help singing or the wind could help blowing. I was surrounded by him, and I felt like we were the world suddenly small.

 

Its a soft and sweet kiss, our lips barely touch. I shove him back suddenly as if I have been shocked. He just looks at me, an expression on his face that I can't understand. I open my mouth to speak, instead I run. 

He is following me, I can hear those heavy footsteps behind me. I find the nearest tree that will hold my weight and climb as far as I dare. I look down to see Peeta peering up at me through the dark, trying to see me through the leaves.

“You alright up there?” he asks in an easy voice.

“No.” I mutter in a shaky voice and he laughs. I press my hand into my lips trying to comprehend why I miss the heat of his lips against mine. 

“Why don't you come down and we can talk about it.” I shake my head, and I don't think he can see it. What have I done? The question repeats over and over in my head. I had one good day where I haven't even thought of Cray all evening and then I have to go and do this! I've given Cray more ammunition against me. When all that I wanted was to be a normal girl for a night. 

“Katniss, you can stay in that tree all night if you'd like, I'll be here when your ready to come down.” I can hear him rustling leaves as he sits down. I let out a huff, annoyed at his persistence, still I let him stew for a few minutes before I reply.

“Hold on, I'm coming down.” I climb down to the lowest branch and jump landing easily on the balls of my feet, scarcely making a sound. 

“Hi.” he says softly

“Hi.” I whisper back, and he smiles, that dimple popping out on his chin. I rush my lips toward his and he tangles his fingers in my hair to hold me there and as his tongue parts my lips I melt against him. For a blissful second I am completely numb. There is no pain, no Cray, no Prim in a reaping dress, there is hunger, but a different sort. 

I push him back again breathless and he seems to be having the same difficulty. The air seems humid now and all I can hear is the thrumming of my pulse against my skin. I think of my mother and how when she thinks I am not looking still looks out across the meadow, waiting for my father and his love, which will never return. 

“Does your mother want you to marry Madge?” I ask bluntly and he looks shocked, but nods. 

“What a pair we make.” I say more to myself than him. 

“It doesn't matter though.” he whispers “I've been under her thumb long enough.” I could love Peeta Mellark, and it will surely be my undoing. 

He sees it in my eyes before I feel it. “Katniss don't.” he pleads, but I am already running for the safety of my home. 

I am out of breath when I collapse against the door. My mother is in the kitchen wearing a angry stare on her face, Cray sitting at the table with my sister across from her. Prim gives me a pleading look before training her eyes on the floor. 

“Evening Miss Everdeen.” He says easily, turning to face me. “I've been waiting for you.” My mother's face is hard as she offers him some tea. 

“Seems we need to have a conversation.” 

 

TBC


	7. Chapter 6 part 2

We walk in an uncomfortable silence, it envelops me in dread Cray has his hands clasped behind his back, his nails digging into the skin on the backs of his hands. Prim is a few feet ahead of us, her head is bent down at an awkward position, her hair covering her face so I can't see her eyes. All I feel is terror, threatening to choke me, the frozen ground shaking beneath my feet, or maybe its me that is shaking, I can't tell.

`We walk out towards the fence, the road that winds toward the mine is quiet, most of the houses on this road are dark, no one to help me. Not that there would be anyway. I find myself aching for the safety of my home, I just want to go home and pretend this night never happened. 

My sister stumbles on a rock, her feet unsure, and Cray laughs, it brings me back up for air. I hate him, the venom of it blinding me. I could kill him right here with a smile on my face.

My sister turns to look up at me, her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Cray pushes me forward and I stumble into her, my fingers grazing her back. She tries to give me a reassuring smile, all it does is fill me with dread. 

We reach a small patch of worn down grass that separates the road from the fence and Cray stops his breath making small clouds in the cold air. “Stop.” he demands and my sister does as she's told, just a few feet from the fence which is humming with life, I can hear it from here.

There is a long silence where all I can hear is the hum of the fence and my sister who is trying without much luck to quiet her sobs. I shift my weight uncomfortably, trying to reign in my impulse to reach out for her and pull her to me. 

“I spoke with the bakers wife today.” Cray say conversationally. He looks at his pristine, clean nails. “Seems you've been as much a nuisance to her as her youngest has been to me.” I have to swallow the vomit in my throat. 

“ The boy is a lost cause Katniss.” he says simply, as if explaining it to a small child. Tears catching in my eyelashes and I feel like a fool, I already knew that, why does it make me feel so hollow? 

“You continue to defy me, girl.” He looks up at me with black, glazed eyes. I can see years of hatred boring into me. What I wouldn't give to have my bow with me, I'd send an arrow through his throat without a second thought. Suddenly he lurches forward and shoves my sister forward. She stumbles forward and I cry out as she holds her hands out to catch herself. She is a mere inch away from the fence when I catch her elbow in my hand. I pull her towards me as we both fall to our knees in the grass. I press her face into my chest as she sobs in earnest. I turn to look at Cray, years of hatred boring into him as he looks down at me and smiles. 

“You belong to me, Katniss. Not some schoolboy.” This makes Prim cry harder, her tears soaking into my dress. He turns his back to me. I run my fingers through Prim's hair, a vain attempt to sooth her. “You will cut off whatever little arrangement you two have, today, now.” his voice is authoritative and hard. He pauses before he starts to walk towards the road.

“Oh and Katniss,” he turns back to look at me. “The fence will be on all the time now.” He turns and heads up the road toward town and I don't dare take a breath until he is out of sight. My mind is screaming at me to do something, anything, Say something, but the only noise is Prim's soft sobbing. 

“Come on Prim.” I urge her to stand, and I only now realize that my throat is thick with tears. She shakes her head, clutching me tighter. I feel so tired I could scream and it takes a lot of work to keep my voice steady and even. “Primrose, we have to get up.” I demand, pushing her chin up roughly so her eyes, heavy with tears, can meet mine.

With my help she stands and leans on me. We walk back towards home, clutching each other like a lifeline. After what feels like ages my sister speaks. “I could kill him.” her voice is deathly low, its more a growl than anything. I turn to look at her and see that her eyes are cold, unmoving, staring off toward town with determination.

“Me too,” I answer honestly. She looks at me for a moment, her fingers grazing my cheek. 

“I love you Katniss.” she says in a small voice, thick with her tears.

“I love you too, little duck.” 

 

We say nothing to our mother as we make our way to our bedroom, clasping together in the dark. I don't sleep, I just hug Prim in the darkness, willing to save her from the things that lurk in the night. When light streaks through the window I get up, leaving Prim alone on the bed. I am slinging my bag over my shoulder when I notice Buttercup, her old kitchen cat in the window. 

I carry him to the bed and set him down next to her, he finds the crook of her bent knees and settles down, keeping watch over her, and I have never been more grateful I didn't drown him all those years ago. “ good cat.” I whisper and he growls at me in response. I shut the door as quietly as I can behind me.

 

I walk through the district in a daze, I really don't have anything to do. Now the fence is alive, I can't go into the woods and with nothing to trade I have no rounds to make. I wander aimlessly, not sure what to do. I walk to storefronts, my eyes unseeing. When I pass the bakery I can't help but glance in and I see they are packed with people. Peeta is working with his oldest brother and mother up front, his arms laden down with loaves of bread. 

I catch his eye and a wide smile forms across his face. My smile back is involuntary as I offer him a small wave. His hands are full so he can't wave back but he gives me a wink, making a blush creep up my neck and my stomach swirl. Then the look his mother gives me sobers me, bringing me down to reality with a harsh glance, eying the air between me and her son. I swallow thickly and train my eyes forward, speeding my steps. What have I done?

I wander through the district for hours, I walk the fence, still thrumming with electricity. I pace it uselessly, looking for a loophole, some way I could get out of the district threatening to choke me. Its useless, even if I could get out how would I get back in? 

That's when I find Gale, sitting a few feet up in a tree. I didn't even think of how this might effect him. He has only his meager miners salary to provide for the young ones. “Fence has been on all night.” He says, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

“I know.” I say, it comes out as more of a sigh as I lean against the rough bark of the tree. 

“I can see the edge of our snare line from here.” he says, still not looking at me.

“I don't think the electricity will be off for sometime.” I whisper and his head turns to regard me carefully. 

“Somebody wants to keep you inside the fence?” he asks, though it comes out as more of a statement than a question. I nod, looking to the frozen ground.

He lets out a sigh and jumps to the ground a few feet from me. He turns to look at me, his eyes trailing up and down my body. “Its killing me to see you this way.” he answers honestly, his eyes falling to the ground. “I think its worse than you even realize, you don't even notice how dead you look.” 

Anger flashes through me, who is he to tell me about how I look? I open my mouth to yell at him but he smiles up at me for a moment. I want to scream, pound my fists against his chest, for no other reason really than I am so frustrated by this damnable place, at being trapped in the sadness of this miserable district. He removes his cap and ruffles his hair, I've seen him do it a thousand times, and it catches in my chest for a moment.

“I miss you Gale.” I say without thinking, and I do, I miss my hunter partner, my best friend. I just hope I haven't given him any false hope, I can't love him the way he wants me to.

“I miss you too, Catnip.” The sound of my nickname warms my chest. “Someday, maybe, we can be friends again.” I nod as he examines his cap.

“Lets just give it time.” and when he looks at me, he makes it seem like a promise. 

Its dusk when I venture back to town, not able to put off the inevitable any longer. The stars are just starting to peek out from the dying rays of sun, the sky splashed a deep purple. I pull my fathers coat around me tighter as I stick to the shadows and alleyways until I reach the backyard of the bakery. 

The back door is cracked, yellow light spilling into the yard. I pause when voices carry out. I hear Peeta's mother speaking in low tones and I lean against the wooden slats on the side of the bakery. “Really boy, did you think me that much of a fool?” she says evenly, as if discussing the weather. 

“It has nothing to do with you mother.” Peeta responds, his voice flat and lifeless. 

“Its one thing to have her spread her legs for you at the slagheap, its another entirely to bring her to a dinner that your father and I spent months to secure you a spot in.” Peeta's voice is so quiet I can't hear his response, but his mother lashes out at him. I hear a crash and can only assume Peeta will have the marks of their conversation on him tomorrow.

“She'll never love you, you know.” his mother spits, I can almost see the animosity on her face. I can taste her hate on my tongue. “She'll love your money, but never you, you're too inconsequential, too stupid, she's a whore straight through, just like Breslin!”

“I've heard enough.” Peeta snaps, and another crash.

“You think I am saying these things to be cruel Peeta, but I'm not, I just want to protect you.” I can hear Peeta's snort, so clear I can imagine the look on his face. The way his eyebrows knit together, the way his lips press together. “Madge is a good match, you could have a good life.” she says sensibly. 

He comes crashing through the door. His cheek is swollen and red, his eyes are red rimmed like he has been crying. I step softly into the light. He catches my movement and stills, the only movement is the slow up and down of his chest as he breathes. I raise my finger to my lips in a plea for silence and turn toward the darkness of the alleyway, too scared to make sure he follows me.

He does, of course, he follows me silently through town and down alleys until I find a spot near the fence concealed by trees and shrubs, finally I turn to face him.

“Katniss,” he reaches out to touch my face and I take a step away from him. I can't seem to stop staring at the welt that is growing on his cheek. Will he ever stop taking hits for me?

“I can't see you anymore.” I say, Cray's voice ringing through my head. The way he shoved my sister as if she weighed nothing. “I never should have let it get this far.” I admonish myself. Clutching my stomach for fear I might lose my meager lunch.

He laughs and the noise startles me and I take a step away from him, the noise sounds so unlike him, its bitter and cold. It doesn't fit him at all. I press my lips together and wait for him to still again before I continue. 

“I've had time to think and I feel its for the best.” Its not true, of course it isn't but its the only thing I can think of to make him stop looking at me, it does the trick, he glances down at the ground. Rubbing his bruised cheek self consciously. 

“You heard what my mother said.” he says simply, “She doesn't matter Katniss, none of this matters.” 

“Then what does matter?” I ask

“Us, you and me, that's what matters.” he bites his lip.

“But I'm not her Peeta.” I say matter of factly, his eyes shoot up to mine. “I'm not the girl you wanted anyway.” 

“On the first day of kindergarten you wore your hair in two braids and a red checkered dress, your dad walked you to school.” his voice is tinged with sadness and it takes everything I have in me not to walk over and crush him to me, like I would with Prim. “Later that day, the music teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song and your hand shot straight up in the air, do you remember that?” his question hangs in the air around us, in the quiet dark.

“I do.” his voice is so quiet I barely hear him. 

I shake my head to clear it and step towards the fence, desperate for some space between us. 

“And when she stood you up on a stool and you started singing, all the world went silent, even the birds outside, just like your dad.” He toes the ground with his boot, only now does he look up at me. 

“I was a goner, that very moment.” I shake my head against the absurdity of it. 

“You're an idiot,” I say flatly, willing the tears that threaten to spill away. 

“I know.” he answers sharply his eyes boring into mine. “My mother tells me everyday.” 

“Let me finish!” I shout at him causing him to step away from me with shock.

“Your an idiot for ever speaking to me, do you understand that?” my chin quivers and he reaches out to touch it. The heat that radiates from him hits me like a battering ram. “You read these books that make love seem easy and natural but I know what it really is.”

“And what is it Katniss!” he shouts right back into my face. “Please enlighten me.”

I have a wealth of things I could tell him. Its dirty sheets, its sightless gazes in a hard backed chair. One moment its kisses and whispers, the next its crushing heartbreak. Its lulls you into a false hope, then crushes you when you least expect it.

“Its death.” I whisper, my voice cracking as I resist the urge to crumple to the ground. Peeta softens taking a step towards me, I hold up my hand and he stills, waiting for me to catch my breath. When I finally straighten my spine he is staring at my lips and chewing on his own.

He leans forward and kisses me, soft and sweet, he tastes like the glaze they use on the danishes. My fingers tangle in his hair and I find myself stroking his neck softly. My thoughts scream at me to stop this, to push him away, but I can't because the world feels like its shaking around me, and he feels so steady under my touch. His tongue grazes my lips and they part to allow him in. I feel a fire growing in my chest as he lifts me from the ground, my legs hitching around his hips. When we finally come up for air he rests his forehead against mine. We stay this way for what seems like a long time, just listening to each others heartbeats.

“Tell me you don't love me.” he demands and I pause, my fingers still tangled in his hair, painted white in the moonlight. 

“I don't love you.” I say, my breathing labored.

“Tell me you could never love me.” he says, my heart catches against my ribcage, the feeling of it painful. “Tell me.” his voice is hard, I don't recognize it at all. My breath is caught in my throat and I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes. I remain quiet, lying has never been my strong suit. I rub my forehead against his, trying to soak in some of his warmth while I still can.

“If you don't I won't be able to walk away from you.” he runs his thumb down my cheek. “please.” he pleads.

“I could never love you.” I whisper, my face finally crumbling. He nods, his bottom lip quivering and disentangles from me, setting me gently down on the ground. He turns away from me and walks back towards town, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

I stay still for a long time, a trick I have mastered over years of hunting. I can hear the forest on the other side of the fence come to life with creatures. This time, I am working on closing the little fissures in my heart, those little cracks I have made tonight. I shut my eyes tight and will them back together. 

I will never let anyone make me feel like this again. 

 

The district is quiet,the apartments above the businesses spilling light, I force myself not to look at the bakery as I stumble on my tears, trying to find my way to Crays house, practically blind. I am almost there when I hear a voice call out to me from the shadows near the shoemakers.

“Rough night?” I let out a disgusted noise that sounds something like a snort. Wiping at my cheeks uselessly, as my tears are frozen to my skin. 

“What would you know about rough nights Haymitch?” he steps out of the shadows swaying slightly. His hair is practically plastered to his head with grease and his suit is crusted with what could only be vomit. I bite back my distaste, I'm in no mood for the surly victor tonight.

“Bout the same as you, I expect.” he snorts taking a long drag from the bottle that dangles from his fingers.

“What do you want?!” I scream at him, my patience finally snapping like twine that has been pulled too tight.

“Just a moment of your time.” he gives me a crooked grin.

“Why?” I snort “You don't even know me.” my voice sounds hollow, I just want to get this horrid night done with. I run my fingers through my hair to give them something to do.

“Sure I do, your James Everdeens girl.” my heart stops and I cock my head at him. “I'd know that scowl anywhere.” he chortles, he reaches out to finger the lapel of my fathers jacket. 

“Fine, you have one moment.” I snarl and he shakes his head, giving me a toothy smile.

“Not here, not now.” He glances towards Crays home. “Not with him waiting on you.”

“When then?” I say, my voice growing impatient.

“My house, tomorrow evening.” He lights a cigarette, the match illuminating the look he is giving me, I can't help but cringe beneath it. 

“Oh, and, uh.” he takes a long drag of his cigarette, his gaze slipping down my frame. “wear something pretty.” he throws me a wink and scurries back to the shadows. As I steel myself and turn towards Crays house, I can't help but wonder what on earth the old drunk would want with me?


	8. Chapter 7

I arrive at Haymitch's door at a quarter to seven, my palms slick with sweat, I have to stop three times to even my breathing before I gather the courage to softly knock on his door. I look around but the victors village is quiet, there is no one milling about to see me. I pull the hem of my faded blue dress down to my knees and wonder what the wisdom of listening to this old drunk would be. 

He answers the door, leaning against the frame to regard me in my dress carefully. “I suppose it will do.” he says motioning me forward with two fingers. I nearly trip over an old milk crate in the hallway. 

“Mind your feet, I don't get many vistors.” 

“Wonder why?” I bite, taking in the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the food wrappers littering the floor.

“Mind your manners girl, would think Jamie's girl would have some decorum.” 

“How did you know my father?” I ask as he leads me through a maze of a hallway, pulling down a staircase from the bathroom ceiling that must lead to an attic. 

“We went to school together.” he says simply, gesturing me up the stairs and I pause, chewing on my lip thoughtfully. I look into his face and only see irritation at my hesitation.

“Ain't got all day girl.” he snaps, shoving me forward. The feeling of his hands on my back bring a sweat to my skin and I cringe away from him. I eye him warily as he holds his hands up as if he means me no harm. 

I ascend the stairs slowly, deliberately holding him up so he huffs in irritation. It gives me the smallest sense of satisfaction. When I climb into a dusty attic I notice that we aren't alone, Madge, Gale and Darius are all here as well as Harlow, one of Crays girls. I look around in confusion.

“Whats going on?” I ask my eyebrows furrowing together, Gale refuses to meet my eyes. Madge looks down at the ground studying her shoes. I turn to look at Haymitch. 

“There is no way for you to know this, but communications are down in districts 3, 4, 8 and 10.” Haymitch says unceremoniously. My eyebrows quirk of their own regard.

“What does that have to do with me?” I snort

“I'm getting there.” Haymitch says as he takes a pull from his flask.

“There is a wealth of information in Crays office.” Gale supplies looking at me pleadingly. “If only we could get to it.” realization dawns on me and I have to take a step back.

“You want me to get it.” at least they all have to good grace to look ashamed. “You understand what that would mean for me, if I get caught right?” I snap

“Then don't get caught.” Haymitch snarls, his patience growing thin. 

“What is this?” I say looking to each face “You needed to bring me into a dusty room at the edge of town for this?” 

“Only room in the house that ain't bugged.” Haymitch says helpfully

“Wonderful.” I spit sarcastically “Just the topping to a wonderful day.” 

“Katniss, do you understand what it means if communications are down?” I shake my head, honestly I don't care to know.

“It means this is it,” Madge's soft, mousy voice lilts up as she wraps her dark jacket around herself tighter, tucking a strand of pallid hair behind her ear. “The revolution,” it might sound like a war-cry, it might sound reassuring, if she didn't sound so scared.

I can't help myself, I laugh. Everyone seems to look around uncomfortably while I wipe my eyes. When my cackling fades to a soft chuckle I straighten. “This is it then, a handful of ragtag misfits against the Capitol, then?” 

“Katniss, this is bigger than just us.” Harlow interjects, her caramel hair braided down her back. “Gale just thought you wouldn't feel comfortable talking with people you didn't know.” 

“This is completely absurd.” I wave my hand dramatically and Haymitch rolls his eyes at me.

“Katniss, we may never get this chance again.” Gale's voice is hard as he comes over to stand next to me. 

“And you would be willing to sacrifice me for the cause.” I state calmly looking to Darius who rubs his neck with his hand. 

 

“This is bigger than any of us.” Gale says quietly, touching my shoulder.

“I need time to think.” I say 

“That is a luxuary we don't have, unfortunately.” Haymitch says and I turn on him, I eye him carefully. 

“Fine.” I whisper and Gale smiles at me, running his fingers down my arm. Madge looks at the ground, taking a deep breath. Haymitch doesn't say anything just narrows his eyes. Fear swells in my stomach and I press my hand to my abdomen to calm the way the room seems to spin. Haymitch appears by my side suddenly, pushing the collar of my dress to the side, revealing a bite mark that Cray had left on my shoulder the night before, its a marring purple bruise that looks angrier than it feels.

“I promise you that when the time comes, you can kill the bastard.” Haymitch says suddenly. “what do you say to that, sweetheart?” I meet his eyes and he raises his eyebrows in silent question.

I am quiet for a long time, trying to decide whether or not I can trust this man in front of me. The hate for Cray suddenly overwhelms me, there is nothing more that I want than him dead. Images of him on top of me fill my mind. The look on my sisters face as she pitched forward, sure she was going to hit the fence. The defeated look on Peeta's face last night when I told him I could never love him. All the dirty little faces of seam children, too hungry to play like children should. Damaged miners and there red, burned flesh on my mothers kitchen table.

“I'd say,” I utter, pushing the hair out of my face and standing straighter. “Long live the revolution.” Haymitch smiles at me, his teeth crooked and yellow.

“There's Jamie's girl.” he whispers back at me. “If he could see you now.” 

 

I still have a while before Cray expects me so I wander the district, a small camera, smaller than my index finger tucked in my boot. I avoid the bakery at all costs skirting around the edges of town. I try to ignore the gnawing in hunger in my gut but soon my stomach is gurgling loudly. I swallow my fears and slip into the hob.

Greasy Sae is busy selling soup hand over fist. I hang back waiting for the crowd of miners to disperse before I approach her.

“Hello, young lady.” She greets, giving me a toothless smile.

“Sae.” I greet, noticing a few stares from a group of young miners at the next stall.

“Bowl of soup?” she asks and I nod. I eat in relative silence, I can feel people staring at my back, and besides the odd nasty comment, I am left in peace. Its more than I can ask for at this point.

I pay Sae her coins and make my way home, trying to quell the quietness that screams in my head. I am stopped short by the sight of my sister kissing Rory on the porch. The gate behind me slams shut with a rusty clank and my sister startles, pushing the boy away.

“Katniss!” she says in a shocked voice. Rory has the good sense to look at shoes, clearly mortified by being caught, red staining his face.

“Primrose.” I counter, dropping my empty game bag at my feet. I have a million images in my head, most of Cray, I have to step back from my sister because there is a fire of hatred threatening to consume me.

“Um,” Rory hedges looking between us awkwardly. The sound snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Get lost, Rory.” my voice is deathly low and he doesn't dare question me. He turns to Prim and mutters a soft goodbye before pushing past me. I can only stare at my sister whose cheeks are red and lips are swollen. Her eyes fall to the ground.

“Listen, Katniss-” she starts but I am so tired I can't stand the sound of her voice right now. I raise my hand to stop her words and she steps toward the door.

“Later, Prim, Please.” I shove passed her, ignoring my mothers questions, I fall on our bed and am asleep before I can take my boots off.

My dreams consist of blood, lots of it. I dream I am tracking a deer, but when I take my shot at its eye, it morphs into Peeta and falls down dead before I can cry out. I dream I am in the forest, chasing after my father, stumbling over bracken and bushes. When I finally catch up to him I feel a happiness that has escaped me since my death. When he turns to face me, half of his face is charred and smoldering, leaving gleaming, white bone looking back at me. I dream of Prim kissing Rory, her face turned away. He presses her against the side of the house, his body blocking her from my view. When he steps away I see blood dripping from her stomach and she falls to the ground, drained completely. Her nose, ears and mouth dripping with red.

I awaken to my sister shaking me desperately, I jolt up from my pillow and my sister envelopes me in a hug. “Oh, Katniss, you were screaming.” her voice is thick with tears. I clutch her to me, willing my hold to be tighter.

“I'm going to kill him, Prim, I promise.” I whisper into her dress. 

I want so badly to tell her of Haymitch and Gale, and the tentative revolution that has begun. My sweet, kind sister would know what to do. I feel like all I've done is make a mess of things.

 

“Do it.” she says, her breath tickling my hair. “and make him suffer for what he's done to you.” 

I glance up to see her eyes hard, her jaw set in a tight line. Its the closest thing I will get to the war drums of olden days. I feel as if a wolf pack has descended upon me, their teeth gleaming and snarling, hackles raised. Let them come, I think to myself. I will crush them with the heel of my boot. 

I feel awake for the first time since my father died, and I am angry. 

I pace the living room like a caged wildcat as I impatiently wait for nightfall. As the sun is beginning to set I hear a knock at the door. My sister and I exchange worried glances before she slips to the window, peeking out of the curtain. She lets out a sigh of relief.

“Its only Peeta.” She eyes me sadly as I freeze.

“Send him away Prim.” I demand, turning on my heel and stalking towards my room. I have no energy for him right now. 

I make my way to my bedroom window and peek out, I am just able to see the tail of Peeta's coat as he stands at the door. My sister tries to keep her voice low but I can still hear them.

“Please, Prim, If I could just see her-” 

My sister cuts him off, her words soft, but I can see him slump slightly. “I don't think that is such a good idea.” 

“Please?” he asks and his voice is so small I almost give in right there. I want nothing more than to rush to the door and kiss him, but I hold strong, clutching the curtain for strength.

“Hold on.” I hear my sister say and she turns away from the door. For a moment my heart sinks, I don't have the strength to do this without her, I'll give up for sure if she comes to get me. I hear rustling in the kitchen and she returns a moment later, handing him a parcel. “It will help with the swelling.” she says, her voice thick with sympathy.

“Uh, thank you, I guess.” 

“She's very tired, but I will tell her you stopped in.” Prim says, from her voice I can tell she is standing tall, her stance not giving him any room to argue.

He nods and turns, his face slack and white. His cheek is angry and red, his eye almost swollen shut. I raise my hand to my lips, remembering the way he kissed me. In his hand is a bouquet of wildflowers, lavenders and daisies, I don't even know how he managed them in the dead of winter. Probably the florist, they probably cost him a fortune. 

I catch his eye and he stares at me for a long moment, his eyes pleading with me silently. I raise my fingers to the musty glass for just a moment, wishing there was something I could do to wipe that sad look off his face. I step away, letting the curtain fall between us. He leaves the flowers on the railing of the porch and turns back to town. I watch him until he disappears from sight, reminding myself that there is no use in wishing, not in this world we live in.

As soon as I am sure he is gone I rush out, grabbing the flowers and clutching them to my chest tightly. I order Prim to fetch a vase of water. I set them on the windowsill of our room, not before plucking out a perfect daisy and slipping it into an old heavy textbook. 

I press the book to my lips before tucking it back on our worn out shelf above our bed, hoping that it might be enough of an offering to keep the nightmares at bay for tonight.

I wait until most of the seam is asleep before I venture out. I focus on the soft cloud of my breath until I reach town which is still lit. Funny, I think, it almost seems pretty. Here in town, there isn't coal dust everywhere, the bricks of the shops are still a pretty red. The rooftops have nice shingles in varying shades of red and green. 

I catch Darius watching me from his post near the butchers, another peacekeeper with him. He tips his head in greeting when I walk by, but says nothing. I offer him the slightest quirk of my lips. 

I stand as tall as I can as I go and stand with the other girls, Harlow finds me and stands with a Ramrod posture next to me. She glances at me from the side of her eye, her red lips pressing together tightly. 

“Cringe like a dog, Harlow, people will treat you like one.” I say softly, so none of the other girls can hear. She smiles and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze for just a moment before Cray steps up onto the porch to examine us, and she retreats back a ways, putting space between us. 

 

Just then I hear the sky open with a thunderous shake as rain begins to drench the cold, frozen ground. 

I meet Crays eyes and I swallow hard, forcing myself to smile at him sweetly. Do you know? I think to myself, Do you know that you will soon be dead? I feel the cool metal of the camera tucked securely in my boot. 

Cray walks the line of girls, pausing to look me up and down before continuing on. He smells of booze and those greasy sausages that come in a can. His footfalls are heavy and uneven. Afterward, he will be asleep for hours. 

I step forward on the tips of my toes, my breath catching in my throat. I shove my hands in my pockets, so he can't see them shake. I muster everything I have in me to speak louder than a whisper. I square my shoulders, look him right in the face and I volunteer to go with him. 

He looks pleased as he beckons me forward. Off in the distance, I see Darius hang his head. 

Let the wolves descend upon me, I think, welcoming the hot anger that courses through me as I step into the rain, turning my face upward towards the rumbling sky, Cray wrapping a heavy arm around my neck. I will kill them all with a smile on my face.


	9. Chapter 8

I am sitting against the rough bark of an oak that I am sure is older than the dark days. My face is warm from the sun and my hands are stained with berry juice. Its been a fruitful day out in the woods with my father, his worn out face, has the same look as his jacket, decayed with time and weather, his charcoal eyes etched with crows feet from years of squinting in the sun. 

He leans back next to me, the smell of pine and wych hazel rich on his skin. I tangle my fingers in my braid, pulling it loose to alleviate the headache that always begins when I leave it up for too long.

“Fishing will be good this year.” he says conversationally, handing me a piece of dried turkey from the pouch on his belt. I am struck mute, staring at him with unabashed wonder. He is whole and alive next to me, the warmth from him radiating through me.

“Daddy?” I ask in a soft voice

“Keep making that face Kitten, it'll get stuck that way.” he promises with a wink. 

“Dad, I miss you.” I utter, leaning into his jacket and breathing in deeply. The smell of him is enough to bring tears to my \eyes. 

“Now, that's enough crying.” he admonishes, his fingers brushing my chin. “There's been enough of that for a lifetime.” 

“I'm so scared.” I sound like I did when I was eleven, awakening from dreams of my father crumbling beneath ash and soot. I sound bitter and lost.

“I don't know whats going to happen.” My voice is husky with tears and I have to wipe my tears from my face to see him. 

“It will all be okay.” He promises, patting my knee and looking up to sky which is a bright, brilliant blue. “Just turn away from the pain, the sadness, and look at the light.” 

My eyebrows furrow together in confusion but he doesn't elaborate, just kisses my cheek.He takes my face in his hands tilting my chin upward as a flock of Mockingjays take flight, fluttering upwards, blotting out the sun. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP 

 

I awake when its still dark out, my hair plastered to my head with sweat. I can't seem to catch my breath, my lungs heaving uselessly. I look over at my sister, sleeping peacefully, her face slack and pallid. I push her bangs out of her eyes and move to stand. She makes a small noise and flips over toward the window, and away from me.

No use in going back to sleep, so I dress and steep some strong tea. I sling my bag over my shoulder and make my way to town, ignoring curfew. Its quiet out, not a soul on the roads or in their yards. Only a few kerosene lamps lit on porches, signaling a miner on the night shift, a family lighting their way home. This is when I like the district best, when it seems the most like home.

The streetlights in town are still alive and I find the cobblestone steps that lead to the square. I stand at the end of the sidewalk and chew on my lip, unsure of where to go or what to do. I wonder if Peeta is awake? Immediately I push the thought of him from my mind, its no use thinking of Peeta now. Besides, I don't think he'd want to see me, even if I did stop in. I wonder if it smells like fresh baked bread? Its early, but Peeta keeps baker's hours and they are up hours before the sun. 

I move my way down the sidewalk and resolve I would just walk by, telling myself that I just want to see the cakes. Its no use, I know its a lie. Still, my feet move of their own accord. I fiddle with the strap of my bag as I pass, telling myself that I should turn around and walk away.

I stop a few feet away from the bakery, warring with myself internally. I relent finally, my feet taking small, businesslike steps. I stop just shy of the door and breathe deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of what could only be wheat bread. My head is dizzy with it and I have to steady myself on the railing to keep myself from slumping from the ground, its only been a few days, already I miss Peeta so much I could scream. 

I peek through the window and see the lights on in the kitchen and the sound of distant laughter from the boys. I swallow the lump that is forming in my throat and force my feet to move forward. 

I find Darius near the hob, leaning against an abandoned warehouse, covered in coal dust. As soon as I come into view, his eyes slink away from me, just how they've done the past few days, as if he can't stand to look at me. He hasn't been his usual playful self at all, sticking with small talk, his face always tightening when he sees me. 

“What are you doing out after curfew?” he says, sounding more like a weary parent than a peacekeeper. I try to look contrite.

“Couldn't sleep.” I whisper

“You should get home.” he scolds sternly.

“Bossy doesn't suit you, Darius.” I say, leaning next to him and he relents with a grumble. His lips quirk up slightly but he keeps his eyes trained to the ground. I let out an annoyed huff and poke him in the ribs. 

“You're an annoying sort tonight.”He says and I laugh, though it sounds humorless. 

“If you ask Haymitch I'm an annoying sort all the time.” 

“You guys just butt heads because you're both just alike.” his red eyebrows raise and I tighten my hold on my game bag.

A few days ago, in this very warehouse I had held the camera out to Haymitch with a flourish, a proud smile pasted on my face. He pulls the camera from my fingers and shoves it into a small pocket in his vest. I stand there for a few moments, the smile on my face almost manic.

“What?” Haymitch says after a few beats of silence “You want a cookie or something?” My face falls and I clear my throat as everyone stares at me. 

“You did good, Katniss.” Gale says, patting my back gently. It takes great effort to smile up at him. 

“Yeah, she's a saint.” Haymitch snaps, taking a swig from his flask. “Listen, its dangerous to meet at my house, Katniss, we did that for your benefit, we will be meeting here from now on.”

“Won't that be a little suspicious?” I ask, swallowing hard. 

“Not with Harlow and yourself....” He trails off, letting me come to my own conclusions. 

“Right,” I say, my heart sinking into my stomach. “Because we're whores.” Peeta's voice runs through my head 'No one speak to you in that manner.' 

 

“You'll come here on the pretense of 'doing business',” Haymitch ignores my comment and keeps on talking. 

“Not everyone will be here all of the time of course, myself, Gale or Darius will meet the two of you and you can pass over any information you gather then.” 

“Cray will be upset when he finds out.” I say, my head spinning.

“That's a risk we'll have to take.” Gale says, his voice hollow. I turn to glare at him and he at least has the decency to look away from me. 

“How could you say that?” Madge admonishes in a hard voice. She looks like she might hit him. Her fingers flexing at her sides.

“This isn't child's play!” Haymitch bellows, throwing his flask against the wall where it splashes booze onto a dusty windowpane. “This is war.” he continues in a softer voice. “The girl knows the risk.” 

I lean myself against the wall, the world feeling like its spinning. I glance up to see Madge walking out, her body stiff.

“I'll go get her.” Gale says, following after quickly. 

“You sure know how to clear a room.” Harlow jokes before slipping out a back window.

Haymitch and I stare at each other for what seems like a long time before he gives me a sigh.

“I don't have the time or energy to coddle you, sweetheart. Reaping will be here before we know it and I need as much information as you can get to.” He isn't looking at me, he stares sightlessly at a wall, swaying on buckled knees.

“Well, you spend more time with Capitolites than anyone else in the district.” I say “Any advice?” 

He is quiet for a moment before laughing to himself softly. “Stay alive.” he cackles in earnest. 

“That the advice you give your tributes?” I say

“Yep.” a ghost of a smile is still playing on his lips. It makes me so angry I fear I will hit him, instead, I scoff. The disgusted noise I make echoing off the walls. Even if it is just for a moment, I want to wipe that smile off his dreaded face.

“Probably why they're all dead.” I snap, it does the trick, for a moment any flicker of amusement is washed from his features.

“Don't speak to things you don't understand, sweetheart.”

“See you next week.” I turn my back and walk out, not sparing a glance behind me.

“Katniss.” Darius snaps me from my thoughts and into the present. “Are you okay?” I force myself to nod, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, maybe I'm more tired than I thought.” 

“Go on then,” He says, pointing towards the seam. “Get home.” I push off the wall with my foot and offer him a smile before I head back the way I came.

First light has left the district in a haze of reddish orange light. A storm on the way, I think to myself as I pass by the alleyway nearest the bakery. I am almost to the square when I almost run right into Peeta, whose looking upward, toward the sky.

I have to jump to the right to avoid colliding with him and I end up almost running into a cluster of garbage bins. He grabs my elbow to keeping me from stumbling, and I jerk back, taking a few steps back to catch my bearings. We stand there, just staring at each other, neither moving. He is dressed in his usual bakers garb, a plain white tee shirt and faded black slacks. He doesn't wear a jacket, though its near freezing out. He has his sketchbook out tucked at his side and his fingers are smudged with charcoal. His eyes narrow at me as if he might cock his head to the side and ask me a question.

I tilt my chin up, and raise my eyebrows, silently willing him to drop his gaze first so I can run with some sort of dignity. His fingers twitch at his sides as if he wants to reach out and touch me. The movement startles me and I ask the question before I have time to really think about it.

“What are you doing?” my voice is cold and hard, though I haven't meant for them to sound that way. 

He looks around himself, regarding the alleyway with an unamused expression. “This is my house Katniss.” I was talking about those fingers that were dangerously close to touching me, but whatever. I think to myself. We are still at a standstill, neither one of us willing to back down.

“If you must know, I woke up and saw the sky is my favorite color, seemed like the perfect time to draw.” I look up as if just noticing the brilliant orange. It is beautiful, especially up toward the hills beyond the fence.

“What's yours?” he asks softly, pulling me from my trance.

“What?” I ask, my eyebrows quirking

“Your favorite color?” he implores “What is it?”

“Oh, um-” I hedge, chewing my lips uneasily. “Green.” 

“Green is nice.” he says, he shifts on his feet, running his hand through his hair and tucking his sketchbook closer to him. He looks upward once more before clearing his throat. “I have to help my Dad in the kitchen.” he says

I don't say anything as he awkwardly moves past me, being careful not to touch me in the narrow alley, he gets mud on his boots as he slips passed me, pressing himself into the side of the building to make way for his broad frame. 

I watch him retreat and slowly begin to relax my breathing. I uncurl my fists at my side and slump my shoulders. I have just reached the square when I hear him call my name from the other end of the alley. I turn and look at him, haloed by the glow of early morning light.

“What do you want?” I ask, a weary edge to my voice.

“Um, Nothing.” he says, his voice faltering slightly. “Never mind.” 

I can only nod, because I don't trust my voice. He gives me a small smile, just enough to bring his dimple out, and I have to turn away. I have to keep my steps measured and steady, because I am afraid that I will turn and run back towards the bakery. 

Was this always my fate? To feel as if I am helplessly careening towards this boy? Is this the way the ocean feels as it crashes against the shore? Once I reach the road to the seam I run as fast as I can toward the meadow, desperately needing an escape. When I reach the fence I skid to a stop, gasping furiously. The fence is humming and cock my head to listen, shutting my eyes tightly. I reach my fingers out, hovering them just above the metal. 

 

I'm not sure how long I stand like that, with my fingers almost touching the fence, but my hand is numb when my eyes snap open. There at the edge of the fence, is a mockingjay, laying crumpled and half hidden in the grass, its wings twisted in odd directions. 

“A hawk.” I say to myself quietly, dropping my hand to my side and sinking to my knees in the grass. I wonder if it felt the wind on its back or the blue of the sky before its wings were broken. 

I stay in the meadow most of the day, sipping my tea that has long gone cold. When I arrive home I find my mother at the kitchen table. She has the small tin I keep our coins in and is dutifully tallying what we have, which isn't much. 

“Katniss.” she says, not looking up at me. For a moment, it strikes me how weary she looks. Her blonde hair is swept up in a loose knot the graying wisps at her temple falling into her face, and a paisley dress, one of two that she owns. I hesitate a few feet away from her, uncertainty flowing through me. 

I drop my bag and sit across from her at the table before I lose my courage. She pauses, her eyes glancing up at me. “What's wrong, honey?” She drops the coins she was counting and leans back in her chair.

“I-I had a dream.” I state, looking at the grain in the table. My fingers tracing patterns in it.

“What about?” she asks

“Dad.” I say, finally meeting her eyes. She looks concerned, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Oh, sweetheart.” she says softly.

“I miss him.” Its the first time I have willingly brought him up to her in years. For awhile it was because the sound of his name was too much for her to bear. Then, it became to painful for me to bear. His memory became a ghost in the house, a entity we were all aware of, but never mentioned to each other. 

“I do too.” Her voice is shaky and I expect any moment for her to go running for the safety of her bed. She doesn't though, and I am struck by how alone she truly is. Her family abandoning her to the seam when she married, because he wasn't enough in their eyes. Then continuing their silence after his senseless, fragmenting death. Completely alone, with two mouths to feed, her brain shut down. Not being able to cope with reality. Maybe I understand her more than I thought.

“I love you, Mama.” I say, I haven't called her Mama since I was small. Her face brightens, just slightly, and for a moment, I see her for how she was when she was young. So full of beauty, you could be crushed beneath it. Now I know where Prim got it.

“I love you too baby.” her voice is so soft I barely hear it. A knock at the door startles us and my mother puts the coins back into the tin before going to answer it. 

Its Tawny Hubbard, our neighbor and her brood of siblings that she always is carting around with her wherever she goes. There are five Hubbards in total, Tawny being the oldest at 15, Prim's age. The youngest is two, Max, who is a photo negative of his oldest sister with his merchant blonde hair and fair skin. No one knows who his father is, no one seems to care.

They come by every so often when their mother isn't well. Bringing their hungry, dirty faces, mostly only speaking to each other. Tawny often has Max hitched high on her hip, as she pulls the others along. “She's talking to herself again.” Tawny will say a contrite expression on her face, and my mother will be off towards their house, that smells of spoiled milk and dirty diapers. 

Vera Hubbard whose mind isn't all there drinks a lot, and its not a secret. Her children pay for it dearly, with harsh glances and jokes thrown at them all the time about how they are always dirty. 

“Tawny, come in.” My mother ushers them inside and they stand at the edge of the kitchen, huddled together in the small space. “What is it, dear?” she asks Tawny, whose staring at me, her brown eyes wide.

“She won't eat.” Tawny says, her voice sounding spent and hollow. “Hasn't eaten in days.” 

“When was the last time she was out of bed?” my mother asks gathering her jacket and bag.

“Tuesday.” Tawny says, her thin chapped lips pressing together. My mother nods and shuts the door behind her softly. The room is silent except for Max coughing, its hacking and Tawny tries to soothe him, when it doesn't work, she shushes him, unshed tears brimming in her large chocolate eyes.

I wish Prim was here, she is good at talking to people, Tawny included. She'd strike up an easy conversation or a joke and I could go our room and hide. Tawny turns to look at me, her eyes wide. I clear my throat uncertainly, the noise echoing through my living room. 

One of the smaller girls, Abby or Annie, I think, is watching me as well. She seems safer to speak to then Tawny. 

“Hello.” I say tentatively and she steps back behind Tawny's willowy legs. 

“Don't be rude Abby.” Tawny scolds

“How old are you?” I ask her, forcing a small, friendly smile on my face. She seems to warm up to me a little, she smiles shyly.

“Five.” she holds out her fingers to show me. I can't help but smile wider, making her beam back at me proudly.

“Do you like music, Abby?” I ask her and she nods, pushing her knotted hair from her face. Tawny is watching me suspiciously as I head towards my room. I step into a small closet and pull up a loose floorboard, a coating of dust settling on my hands.

A hard leather case stares back at me. I touch it with my fingertips for a moment before pulling it up and out of its hiding spot. My fathers guitar has been hidden here for years. They aren't illegal, but they are extremely rare. When my father died I stashed it here, out of sight, where it couldn't be broken or bartered for bread. The only thing I have of value left that was his.

Its beautiful, made from light alder wood and bone. It was my grandmothers and her mothers before that. I carry it to the porch, where the children have moved. Max toddles around the yard, grabbing fistfuls of grass and tossing them into the wind. To tired and hungry to move, he just sits with his back propped against the tree, watching the blades of grass fall to the ground. 

I settle down on the porch steps and tune the guitar as Abby comes to sit next to me. She watches with rapt attention as I strum the strings a few time, feeling rusty and inexperienced. My father often used to do this on Summer evenings. After dinner he'd pulls us out on the porch and he'd play while Prim chased fireflies. Crowds gathering at our gate to clap along to the music. His music bringing joy to a often joyless world.

When I am satisfied with the sound I turn to Abby, whose eyes are wide with wonder. “Do you know the valley song?” I ask and she nods. 

I shut my eyes and begin to play. I bungle over the first half, but slowly, I begin to remember the chords, and my voice warms up. I actually sound quite nice. 

And then a funny thing happens, I smile.

Because everything feels lighter, like the air is humming with energy. I'm not sad, I'm not angry. I don't see Peeta's chin quiver or my mothers tired face. I don't see Prim's hollow cheeks or my fathers face as he came home from the mine each day. I don't feel anything but the music swelling around me.

I am just me, when I play, and it feels good enough for the first time in ages. 

I only look up when the last echoes of the song have stopped, to find all the children standing in stunned silence around me. Its not only them either, a small group of girls and an older couple out walking have stopped to listen, paused at our gate. 

I smile and look down, embarrassed. Abby starts clapping and soon the small crowd has joined her. I don't know what to do, so I run into my house and hide until my mother comes back and gives Tawny some herbs for her mother and a syrup for Max. 

I am in a remarkably good mood when Prim gets home. I play the guitar for her until my fingers hurt. I don't argue when she pulls me up from the floor and spins me around the living room, even convincing our mother to join us, dancing in the flickering light of the fire. 

Laughter fills our house for the first time in years. Its a light, tinkling noise that reminds me of sunlight. My mother makes tea and we eat meatless soup made out of wrinkled carrots and wilting potatoes, but its the best soup I've had, it tastes of home.


	10. Chapter 9

Cray stares at me for a long, hard moment before stabbing his fork into his chicken. I sit across from him, worrying my cloth napkin in my fingers. He is regards me with cool eyes before raising his fork and taking a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“You haven't touched your meal.” he says gently. 

I sigh, relenting and taking a small bite, its tasteless and cold against my tongue. It takes everything in me not to spit it out on the floor. He looks amused as he takes another bite and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over the bald spot on the top of his head. 

“You should eat, you've gotten thinner.” He sounds almost fatherly and it makes me sick to my stomach. What he says is true, I've grown even thinner, if that was even possible. My ribs stick out against my dress and my eyes seem to have sunken into my face. My lips are always dry and chapped and my skin has a sallow tint to it. 

“It'd be easier if I could hunt outside the fence.” I say simply, taking another small bite. Cray laughs coldly, his nose crinkling.

“That sass is going to get you into trouble one day, girly.” He takes a gulp of his wine, swallowing loudly. Its his third glass of the evening and a bottle sits unopened next to him. 

“Not hardly.” I mutter under my breath, too low for him to hear. This whole dinner is ridiculous. I had come inside from the rain, only to find the room flickering in soft candlelight, his kitchen table covered in a clean, white linen and fresh bread in a basket in the middle. He had taken my coat and beckoned me to the table, pulling out my chair as if I were a lady, some one he had won over, as if I chose to be here with him. He is as delusional as he is drunk.

I lean back into my chair and take a long sip of my own glass of wine. I stare at the bread, not daring to take a piece. It mocks me from where it sits untouched, fluffy and white. Mellark bread, I wonder if Peeta made it?

“Want a piece?” he offers it to me, raising the basket insistently and I shake my head. 

“No.” I say, my voice cold, hard. 

He wipes his mouth with his napkin and throws it on his almost empty plate. “Lets get on with it, then.” he demands, standing up, swaying slightly.

“Such elegance.” I say, my tone smart.

“That mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day, Katniss.” He says disdainfully, grabbing my chin roughly, forcing my eyes to look at him. “Good thing its so pretty.” He shoves me to the ground, unbuckling his belt, the sound is etched into my memory. 

“Get to work, whore.” He grabs my hair and pulls me toward him, ignoring my cry of pain. 

At some point he moves us to his bed, holding my wrists in his hand while he shoves himself into me. I try to remain as still as possible, I stare up at the ceiling, imagining a gleaming white blade cutting into the soft flesh of his throat. He moans out and its over quickly, his breathing rapid. He pets my hair softly, pulling me toward him.

“Tell me you love me.” He says softly and I shut my eyes tight, ignoring the comment. He grabs my face and pulls me to look at me, repeating himself into my mouth, his breath tasting of wine. His hand pulling my hair until tears leak from my eyes .  
“I could never love you.” I say honestly and he slaps me across the face, laughing coldly as he turns away.

After he falls asleep, his soft snores the only noise besides the ticking of the clock on the mantle of his fireplace. His arms circle me, his face buried in my hair. I unwind from him very carefully, not bothering to dress I walk to the restroom and promptly vomit into the sink.

I wash it down the drain and rinse my mouth, I splash cool water on my face. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes are lackluster and my hair hangs in tangled clumps. I attempt to run my fingers through my hair frantically and I look a little bit better, but it does nothing for the cavernous look in my eyes. 

I lean against the door frame, listening to his heavy breathing and when I am sure he is far away in sleep I find my boots, strewn across the floor. I lift out the small camera from inside and slip into Crays study, being careful to leave the door cracked so I can hear if he wakes.

My pulse is pounding in my neck so violently it chatters my teeth. I swallow hard in an attempt to reign myself in as I pull out a stack of papers from a drawer and slowly begin to take pictures. Its mostly reciepts and bills, but there are also shipment papers. A few clean, white forms down I find a document detailing how at the first of the month there will be a new shipment of peacekeepers to the district.

“Bingo.” I say with a smile, snapping the picture. Then I pause, my fingers stilling. I can't hear his snores, not even breathing, not anything. I freeze, my entire body going rigid. If he finds me here it won't be the firing squad, I'll hang for sure, on live television, for treason. I'll die gasping, for all to watch.

He lets out a fluttering breathing noise and snores. I release a shaky breath that I didn't realize I was holding. Quickly I take a few more photos and place the stack of papers just how I found them. 

I slip the camera back into my boot and crawl back into bed. He pulls me to him subconsciously, his arms heavy around my middle. 

 

When I fall asleep I dream of all the ways he'll die. 

 

Haymitch stares at me from across the warehouse, the only sound for miles is my breathing. “Anyone see you?” he asks finally.

“I don't think so.” 

“That's good.” he responds, I pull the camera from my boot and hand it to him.

He regards it for a moment before pocketing it. 

“Good work, girl.” he says flatly and I nod, moving toward the door.

“Listen.” he says just as I reach the coal coated doorknob. I pause, turning to face him. He wears a soft look on his face that reminds me of my father, for just a moment before he smooths his face into a mask of arrogance. “I'm sorry, for how we have to go about this.” 

“Haymitch,” I say wearily, my voice trembling. “I don't give a damn.” I don't, I don't care that he is sorry, I don't care that I have to keep going to Cray, I would with or without the rebellion. I might as well make it mean something. I don't care what the people of the district are saying, because they don't know the truth. I just don't give a damn anymore.

He nods and looks down at the flask in his hand before taking a large swallow. “Get home.” he demands thickly, turning away from me. Just as I am shutting the door behind me I hear glass shattering. 

I spot a few miners near the slagheap, there eyes turning toward me, squinting in the darkness. I had a few buttons on my dress undone for this exact reason and I button them quickly, looking around as if I am lost. I here them snicker quietly and I feel a blush creep up my neck.

I straighten my spine and walk quickly down the road, a truck full of peacekeepers passing me as I run towards town.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

 

A coin flips into the dust at my feet and I skid to a stop. Calix is standing on the walkway, a group of boys around him. I grip my bag tighter and grit my teeth as he watches me with hard, blue eyes.

“What will that get me, Everdeen?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows up suggestively. The boys behind him cackle into there sleeves. 

“Fuck off, Calix.” I snap

“Now, Now.” he says, shaking his head slightly, a crooked smile on his face as he steps down from the sidewalk toward me. “None of that.” His eyes look me up and down as his smile turns wolfish.

He comes to a stop in front of me and I can smell the soap on his skin. I look down at the ground. This boy is a good deal larger than me, his friends too, I doubt I could fight them off if they tried anything. 

Its evening on a tuesday and there isn't anyone out to witness him harassing me. I brace myself for whatever might be coming.

“Just wondering what a roll at the slagheap would cost me, I figured that might be enough.” he winks at me and take a step back, looking around me uselessly.

“Oh, come on darling, don't be like that.” he brushes the braid from my shoulder and smiles stepping closer to me. My eyes dart to the alleyway between the shoe shop, I could make a run for it maybe. 

“Hey Calix, don't you have anything better to do than harass women on the street?” I voice calls out from behind me. It's Peeta, and I flush, embarrassed. 

 

“This is a private conversation Mellark, I suggest you mind your own business.” 

Peeta laughs, running a hand through his hair. The movement stirs something deep in my chest. He's dressed in his blue button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, he has his suspenders on and what looks like new boots. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking him where he was coming from exactly. 

“Katniss doesn't seem like she wants your company is all.” Peeta says, tilting his head to the side, eyeing Calix coldly. 

“ What does that matter to a whore?” I see every muscle in Peeta's body tense, his hands balling into fists at his side, he takes a step forward, his eyebrows knitted together. My hand moves out and catches his wrist. He jerks back as if I burned him, his eyes meet mine and I shake my head.

“Seems to matter a lot, Cal, looks like you'll have to use that winning personality of yours to get a date.” Peeta snaps and the smirk on Calix face slips for a moment before he chuckles.

“Just having some fun, Peeta, no need to get so defensive.” Calix eyes travel to me and he winks.

“I'll see you later, love.” he says, and it sounds like a promise. I swallow hard as he and his friends move on down the road. Peeta watches them with hooded eyes for a while before turning towards me. 

“Be careful, Katniss.” he says, running his thumb down the fabric of his suspenders for a moment, his eyes flitting everywhere but me. 

“I can take care of myself.” I say haughtily, brushing past him. He chuckles softly.

“No one is doubting that, its just-”

“Its just the whole district thinks I am a whore?” I say and to my horror my voice cracks. His eyes finally land on me, he seems surprised at what I just said.

“Don't act like you haven't heard the rumors.” I snap, taking a hard breath.

“Doesn't mean I believe them.” he says softly, dipping his head toward me before walking towards the bakery. The action leaves me mute, staring after his retreating form.

 

I stand there for a long time, watching his broad frame as he walks down the sidewalk. Finally I scoop the coin at my feet and move along, worried that someone might see me. 

I run all the way home, my heart pounding in my throat. Prim is at the fire, doing her homework in the dull flickering candlelight. The sight of her stops me in my tracks. She looks up and smiles at me. It fills me with dreadful visions of calix harassing her like he did to me. My worst nightmare is her getting hurt because of my actions.

“I don't want you out in town unless I'm with you.” I say, my voice hard. Her eyebrows droop down and her lips part.

“What happened?” she asks, standing, her eyes searching mine.

“Nothing.” I say “Just promise me.” I grip her shoulders tightly in my hand. She nods and swallows. I crush her to me, petting her hair, the act soothing me more than her. 

I grab up the case that holds my fathers guitar and settle the strap on my shoulder. “I'm going to the meadow.” I say to my mother who is stirring a pot of broth at the hearth. She nods, her eyes far away.

I settle down on a rock and begin to play. I play and play, until my fingers scream at me to stop. Even then, I keep playing, willing the music to settle my nerves. I play every song I can think of, until my fingers find a melody of there own, making nonsensical sounds that reverberate inside of my skull.

I look down at one point and find my nail has ripped and blood is pouring down my hand and drips onto the guitar. I ignore the pain and keep playing. 

Its all I have left of my father, a lifeline to keep me sane, in a world that is crumbling around me. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKP

The next evening I wander the district, following the fence up towards town. My fathers guitar is slung over my shoulder and my game bag is filled with items I searched for this morning. I have my green dress, some of my mothers china I hope she won't notice is missing and a vase made of blown glass. I head to the hob with my head held as high as I dare.

I hold the dress out to the clothes maker, she eyes it before taking it from me. 

“I can give you seven coins for it.” she says in a sensible voice

“I paid ten.” I snap

“Its used now, I have to sell it for a lower price.” she argues, I sigh. Seven coins might buy me a few cans from the grocer, maybe I can pick from the things that the labels came off, he might give me a better price for them.

“Fine,” I relent and she hands over the coins.

I move to the next stall and try to sell my mothers china but I don't have any takers. No one can afford such a useless luxury in the seam, what good is a dish with no food?

Twenty minutes later I am outside the hob, feeling hopeless as ever. I find a tree near town and slump down against it. Its so cold, my breath comes out in silver puffs. I shut my eyes tight and focus on counting in my head, I get to a hundred and find the crushing panic in my chest has subsided. Slowly, I pull my fathers guitar out and run my hands over the smooth wood. 

After a moment I begin to play, letting my fingers find there own melody. A few people stop to watch me. Part of me wants to snap at them, tell them to move on, but I don't. I ignore them the best I can by shutting my eyes and letting the music swell around me.

A man I vaguely recognize stops and listens, his head cocked to the side. “I haven't heard playing like that since your father died.” He says softly. 

I can't remember his name, but he is around the same age my father would be. I think he used to play with my father at toastings once and awhile. He smiles at me, shutting his eyes tightly. “Its been a long time since we've had a guitar player.”

“My dad taught me.” I say, my fingers finally stilling.

“He was a good man.” he says nodding thoughfully.

“He was.” I whisper, swallowing and looking down. 

“Wait here.” he says shuffling off until his dark head mixes with the crowd on the road towards the seam. I am just about to give up, my hands cold and my stomach gnawing, when he finally returns, his fiddle in his hands.

“Play.” he insists and reluctantly I do, my frozen fingers working from memory. He listens for a moment, catching the melody he begins to play as well. 

A group of children stop to listen, then an old man, his blonde hair graying at the temples, and then a housewife with dark hair, her hands laden down with a basket of laundry. As more and more people stop to stare at us, I shut my eyes tightly, fearing I might run. 

Then the old man steps forward and places a coin at my feet. The clinking wakes me from my trance and I try to hand it back to him. “You dropped this.” I say softly, the fiddle player keeps playing, though I have stopped.

“Its payment, for your song.” He says, “Its been a long time since I've heard anything beautiful.” he turns and leaves and I pocket the coin, feeling uncomfortable. I turn towards the guitar and keep playing, not sure if I should.

At the end of the night I have four more coins. I split them with the fiddle player, whose name is Atherton and say goodbye. I go to the grocers and buy a few cans, will have dinner tonight, and it makes me sigh in relief. Prim and I will make it through to tomorrow, and that's all that matters. 

I am walking home through town, when I notice Cray watching me from his porch, I meet his eyes and then flit my eyes away quickly, the darkness in them threatening to choke me from here. 

In those eyes I see all the things I hate, I see the depth of his depravity. I feel as if I am fragmenting into pieces and falling apart at the seams under their weight as he watches me carefully. Slowly his lips upturn into a cold smile as I begin to run, the weight of the guitar holding me back.


	11. chapter 10

Its beginning to warm up, the sun peeking from the silver clouds for longer intervals throughout the day. It brings with it a false sense of hope. Maybe this winter of death is over. It teases spring, but mornings and evenings are still piercingly frigid. A fog rolls in every morning that is thick as a wall and lingers well into mid morning. 

I stroll through town, my fathers guitar strapped to my back, I've found a mealy apple in a pile of compost behind the grocers and after cleaning it at the well, I take small bites, willing it to last longer. It tastes like nothing in my mouth and leaves an aftertaste of hopelessness. 

I find a corner in the square, near the justice building and I hunker down in my fathers jacket, my breaths coming out of my mouth like small rainclouds. I finish my apple and throw the core into the bushes. I finally pull my guitar out, running my fingers over the strings. 

I press my back into the wall as hard as I can, willing myself to be smaller in the morning fog. Wishing it would hide me from the prying eyes of the district. I begin to play, a haunting melody from my childhood. I refuse to sing the words but I relish in the notes and chords, melody and harmony. When I play I am not me, not sad, not afraid, not desperate. 

A few people stop to listen, then move along towards the shops. I ignore them the best I can. I am not here for them, but because the hollowness in my chest is threatening to consume me from the inside, I have to get it out before I collapse beneath it. 

I open my eyes and see Greasy Sae's granddaughter, Emily watching me, she is three years younger than myself, but has the mind of a small child of maybe six. Her dark hair falls down around her shoulders, and she is wearing a threadbare wool coat.

“That's pretty.” she says with a lopsided smile. I force myself to smile back at her.

“Thank you, Em.” I respond, the look in her eyes is so innocent and full of admiration that I have to look away, I think she might be the only person in the district that doesn't know about Cray. 

She kneels down and sits on her knees in front of me. “Will you play more?” she asks and I nod. I play a few ballads that seem happy and she listens with rapt attention. When I finally stop, my fingers numb she claps and the sound echoes through the mostly quiet square. 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small, yellow flower. I recoil almost immediately, she may as well have pulled a snake from her coat. She holds it out to me, a smile lighting her eyes as she holds out the dandelion to me. I try to keep my face in a calm mask as I take it from her with shaking fingers.

“Where did you get this Emily?” I ask, and she beams at me proudly.

“I found it in the meadow, means spring is on the way.” 

“Yes, it does.” my voice falters and she wears such an innocent expression that I can't help but smile at her. “Did you know you can eat these?” I ask her and she nods. 

“Good girl, always remember that.” She stands up, stretching as she does.

“Thank you for the pretty songs, Katniss.” 

She moves along toward the hob and I stay, motionless, the dandelion clutched in my fingers, drooping sadly. Then I see him, Peeta, walking along the shopfronts with Madge Undersee, she is wearing a pretty pink dress that doesn't have a smudge of coal dust on it. 

Peeta is talking animatedly with his hands and she's laughing, her blonde head thrown back. I can't hear what he's saying, but he seems to be being his usual charming, funny self. I stay hidden where I sit, willing myself to sink into the ground. If he sees me I'll die of embarrassment.

Sometimes, in just the right light, you catch sight of what someone will be. I feel like I have done just that, They are a perfect match of blonde hair and blue eyes. They both look happy, something I don't think I am capable of anymore. I realize I have clutched the dandelion so tightly in my fingers that its crushed, I drop it to the ground as if its burned me. 

It reminds me of rain and damp bread shoved under my shirt, the smell of it making me dizzy. An act of kindness I could never hope to repay. The feeling of hope that it gave me, bringing me back from death. I can't conjure the feeling at all now. I put away my guitar slowly and wait for my chance to escape, but they stay out front of the bakery for a while, talking and laughing, keeping me trapped in my hiding spot. I huff to myself angrily as I wait. 

Why is it that weeks and years go by so quickly, in a blur, and moments seem to last forever? 

Finally Peeta turns and enters the bakery, and I stand practically running across the square. At some point Madge notices me and calls out my name. I ignore her, willing myself to disappear through the cracks in the cobblestone. 

I reach my porch and fall down onto the front steps, touching my face, I am horrified to find tears on my face. Grieving for something that was never mine to begin with, and I feel so stupid.

My mother is hanging laundry on the line, she notices me and wipes her hands on her apron. “Katniss? Is everything alright?” I raise my eyes to hers, and I feel the concern that is bubbling in her blue eyes.

“Yeah, Mom, I'm fine.” I lie, wiping away the tears from my cheeks with the palm of my hand.

“You sure, honey?” she insists a look of fear on her face and I nod. She looks like she doesn't believe me but she doesn't press, just leaves me alone with my thoughts.

She goes back to hanging laundry and I watch her as she clips a sheet to the line, her eyes fall to the meadow and go dull, its a look I know too well. I've never understood her more than right now.

I go into my room, the blankets on our bed still crumpled and Prim has left a discarded sweater on the floor. I lean against the door, banging my head against the thin wood. I stare at the flowers that Peeta had left on the porch and I am so angry I could scream. I yank them from the window and drop them to the floor, smashing them with my boot, then I smash the vase for good measure. 

It isn't fair, not really and I know this. I ended it with him, and I knew his mother had her sights set on Madge. However, its so much easier to me angry with him, much easier than admitting to myself that this is all my fault. 

How did he do this, I wonder to myself. How did he worm his way inside of me and twist up all of my feelings. I hadn't asked for this, in fact, I had wanted just the opposite, to live my life free of love and all the things it entails. 

Yet he wriggled his way inside of my heart with his shy smiles and kind words. He never looked at me like everyone else. He always wore a look of respect bordering on admiration. 

In this moment I want to hate Peeta Mellark, but I don't, I can't and when I fall onto my bed I cry because I know I never will, and I will never know what it is like to be with him either, I'll never know what his breathing sounds like while he sleeps or what his face looks like when he's really excited. I'll never know if he thinks of me. 

 

The Hob is bustling, I move through the throngs of people to Sae's stall. Emily sits behind the counter, playing with an apple doll. She chatters to herself quietly, petting the dolls hair. Sae comes over and asks if I want her stew and I nod. I feel worn out from crying and my eyes are bloodshot. 

I am splurging on a bowl of soup because I feel so empty I might cave in on myself. Sae doesn't say anything else to me, just drops the bowl in front of me and moves on to the next customer. 

“Hey, kid.” Someone says from behind me. It's Haymitch, he fills the stool next to mine, setting his leather bag on the counter in front of me. “How's the morning going?” he says conversationally and I stare at him.

“You look like shit.” he comments, and I sigh, dropping my spoon into my bowl.

“What do you want?” I ask with a hard edge to my voice. 

“Just thought I needed some nice conversation, naturally I thought of you.” he spits sarcastically. 

I take in a mouthful of watery broth, it burns my tongue but I find it a small price to pay for a hasty retreat. 

“Sorry to disappoint, not in the mood for conversation.” I mutter and he laughs, the smell of booze is so thick around him it makes me want to gag.

“Big surprise.” He says as Sae moves herself to him, plopping a bowl of soup in front of him. “So what is it this time?” he asks “Boy trouble?” 

I push my soup away from me and stand. I can't stand to even look at him right now. He grabs my elbow, holding me in place. 

“Train is coming in tonight.” he says, looking at the wall. “Better to stay close to home.” I nod, the new round of peacekeepers will be here. I try to disentangle myself from him but he tightens his grip on my arm, I've never realized how strong he is. He pulls out a bottle of white liquor from his bag and hands it to me.

“Here,” he says “For your boy trouble.” I shake my head and try to hand it back to him.

“Keep it.” he says hollowly, his eyes still fixed on a point on the wall. “You might need it.” 

I tuck it in my bag, and he releases me. “Be careful.” he says as I am walking away. It gives me pause for a moment, why would he care?

“Always am.” I say just to mollify him. 

“See you in a few days.” I say and he nods. 

 

I am just stepping out of the crowd of people when I hear someone call my name. Its Peeta, covered in flour, a fine dusting of it has landed in his hair and settled in the cracks in the leather of his boots. I can't help but wonder why he never seems to wear a jacket, it must be his beauty that keeps him warm. He does look nice in the afternoon light. His curls are the color of caramel and I can see each freckle spattered across the bridge of his nose. I slow my walk towards him until I come to a stop a few feet away, then I look at the toe of my boot, a tree somewhere to his left, a group of miners that just got off the night shift, anything but him.

“I heard you saw Madge and I this morning.” 

“Really? Does anyone in this district have anything better to do than talk about me?” I snap

“Madge told me.” he says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, flour fluttering upwards, searching for a new place to land. 

“I see.” I say flatly, chewing on my lip.

“I want to explain.” 

I shake my head vehemently, my braid whipping against my neck. “No,” I say in an impolite tone. “You don't need to explain anything to me.” I force out, quieter.

“Its just-” he starts and a raise a hand to ward away his words.

 

“Please, Peeta.” I say “I don't want to hear it.” my words feel thick in my throat.

“Fair enough.” he mutters, looking at the ground. 

We stand there is silence for a long time, both of us looking at the ground. Finally Peeta clears his throat and it seems to wake me from whatever trance I was in. I move to step around him and as I do he grabs my elbow, the same way Haymitch had, only gentler. I stop, the heat from his hand radiating through my jacket. 

“Come take a walk with me.” he insists, his thumb rubbing soft circles in the worn leather of my jacket. 

“I can't.” I say, shutting my eyes tightly. When I open them again I find a few people staring at us openly, what a sight we must be. Fair haired merchant boy and a dark haired seam girl, arguing in the coal dust. I sigh, all I need is for this to get back to Cray.

“Come on,” he prods with a gentle smile. “I promise we won't be seen.” he tugs on my jacket and I let out a huff when I look up into his cornflower eyes. The pleading look in them reminds me of Prim when she begged me not to drown that damned cat, and just like then I give in.

“Fine.” I snort, pushing him towards a cluster of trees on the other side of the hob. He smiles as if he is a child that won a fantastic prize. I glower at him but his smile prevents me from being too angry. He takes my hand in his, and I hadn't realized how starved I've been for his contact. My eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his fingers tangled with mine.

When we reach the safety of the trees he makes a home at the base of a tree, leaning against the rough bark. I watch him with guarded eyes, my face slack of emotion. When he finally looks up at me, he gives me a lopsided smile and pats the ground next to him.

I sit tentatively, slipping my game bag and guitar to the ground and I lean back against the tree, careful not to touch him. 

“How've you been?” he asks, pulling a roll from his pocket, he tears it in half and tries to hand me half. I shake my head but he insists and finally I take it just to shut him up. 

“Fine.” I lie, picking at the roll, he takes a small bite of his roll and chews thoughtfully. 

“You know.” he says with a mouthful “Your a terrible liar, don't ever gamble, you'll lose your last coin.” 

“Fine,” I snap “I feel like I am fucking dying, does that make you feel better?” 

He looks at his shoes for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together. He chews thoughtfully, as if picking his words carefully.

“He's a wicked man, Katniss.” his voice sounds small and angry at the same time, if that is even possible. “Sometimes...” his voice trails off and I have to look away from him because his eyes have taken on a dark shade that I don't want to associate with Peeta, the boy with the bread.

“Sometimes, I want to kill him for what he has done to you.” 

“Me too.” I answer honestly, finally taking a bite of the roll in my hands. To my surprise, its stale, but still good. The cheese that has been baked onto the top is crispy and melts against my tongue. I must make a noise because Peeta looks at me and smiles. 

“I know it isn't the freshest, but its better than nothing right?” He says 

“Its good.” I say lamely and he smiles at me. 

“Try eating it everyday.” he says almost woefully “Not that I am complaining really.” he amends.

I can't help but wonder how he got the money for that dinner he brought to my house and yet he eats stale bread for lunch. “Peeta,” I say carefully, not sure how to broach the subject.

“Hmmmm?” he asks, his eyes far away.

“How did you get ahold of the food you brought to my house?” my tone sounds accusatory, if he is offended he doesn't show it. 

“I have a small allowance that my father gives me for my work in the bakery. I haven't really had any cause to spend it, until I saw you at Crays.” he explains somewhat sheepishly. “As far as the pie, I may have stole it after the bakery closed.” he gives me a wink.

 

“ You didn't have to do that.” I snap and he shrugs his shoulders as if its inconsequential. 

“I wanted to.” he says simply.

“Thank you.” I say, a lump in my throat. I look at my hands, years of scars from hunting criss cross my dusky skin. I sigh, really? Would I ever stop owing him with my life? 

“It wasn't anything, Katniss.” he says with a wave of his hands.

“Thats a lie!” I shout “It was everything, just like the bread!” 

His eyebrows knot in confusion until the realization dawns on him. “The bread from when we were kids?” 

“Yes,” I say exasperated “It saved our lives, it saved Prim's life and I never even thanked you!” his eyes flit away from me, just like they did when I was in school. 

“Don't be silly.” he says “You did that.” 

“You don't understand, its a debt I'll never be able to repay.” I feel small again, like the child in the rain. I can hear it everywhere around me, the rain that beat around me relentlessly, begging me to die. I feel Peeta, with all his light, dragging the life back in, with just two loaves of charred bread.

“You don't owe me anything.” he says simply, finally smiling at me. It falters when he looks at me. He reaches out and touches my face, running his thumb across my cheek he catches a tear that caught in my eyelashes.

He doesn't say anything else, and I don't either, we just stay in our hiding place, the district is oblivious, bustling around me as always. 

I let my head fall onto his shoulder and when it does he leans over and kisses my forehead, brushing my bangs from my face. “Your so much braver than you realize.” he says and I stay quiet, fearing my own voice. 

When he finally stands, wiping the dead leaves from his pants and claiming his lunchtime is over, I stand too, my hands hanging limp and useless at my side. 

“Maybe,” he says softly, almost tongue tied, which would be funny if I wasn't so tired. “Maybe, we could take a shot at being friends?” he says hopefully.

Images of his mother hitting him for burned bread flash across my memory and for the briefest of moments his face looks crestfallen. 

“Sure.” I say lamely, if only to placate him. He smiles at me, that dimple melting me.

“Friends kiss right?” he says leaning towards my face, scooping it up with his hands, thumbs running over my cheekbones. 

“Your cheeky.” I state, batting him away and he steps back when he does I already miss his warmth, I try to scowl but a smile is creeping up on my face. 

 

I sling my game bag over my shoulder as I watch him leave. My fingers find the bottle of liquor shoved haphazardly inside. “Boy troubles, indeed.” I whisper under my breath. 

 

I am sitting on the porch, watching dark haired children dash home as rain begins to fall. Dusk is falling, darkness encroaching. I am idly fiddling with the bottle in my fingers. I think of surly, old Haymitch, who always reeks of the stuff. I wonder for a moment if this drink really helps his ills. If it dulls the pain of watching pairs of children die year after year. 

A truck pulls me from my thoughts, the back is filled with people, dressed in stark white peacekeeper uniforms. Their faces all wear the same blank look on their faces. I watch as truck after truck passes by, their guns strapped against their back staring at me. 

I stare at the clear liquid in the bottle and after a moment I open the cork and take a generous swallow. It burns and I sputter and cough, as it takes the air right out of my lungs. When I finally catch my breath I can't help but smile, it fills my chest with warmth and I would be lying if I said I didn't like it. 

I take another drink and lean against a support beam breathing in the heady smell of fresh rain. I watch people come out of their homes to watch the cavalcade of trucks with bewildered expressions on their faces. Maybe if they knew what might be coming, they'd turn around and hide again. I want to, but I stay stock still on the porch, only moving to lift the bottle to my lips, enjoying the electric bubbling that it brings to my head. 

 

I wonder what Peeta is doing, I look through the window and see on the clock that its almost six, still plenty of time until curfew. Before I have to much time to think about it I grab the bottle and shove it into my bag and stumble up the road towards town, being careful to stick to the shadows, away from any prying eyes.

The bakery is dark but the lights are on in the back. I lean against the old apple tree, shrouded in darkness, I wait, swaying slightly, the bottle clasped in my fingers. I just want to catch a look at him, I think to myself, then I'll head home. 

I don't have to wait long, he comes out of the warmth of the bakery with a bucket of scraps in hand. He walks toward the pig pen, not looking my way. He has showered and is wearing sleep pants and a robe. His chest is bare beneath it, a smattering of pale hair peeking out. I wonder what it would be like to reach out and touch it. The thought sends a flood of warmth to my core. 

I take a step forward, my foot catching on a root and I stumble into the light. Peeta catches the movement and jumps the bucket slipping from his hands and falling into the dirt. He curses loudly and picks it up before he turns to me.

“Katniss, what on earth are you doing?” he asks, his tone somewhat startled. What a sight I must be, standing in the mist, my hair sticking to my neck.

I giggle, the feeling of it bubbling through my chest. “I just wanted to come and see you.” I am surprised by my honesty, and it makes me laugh again. Peeta narrows his eyes at me before pulling me towards the alleyway. 

He examines me with hard eyes for a moment before yanking the bottle from my fingers, he pulls the cork and sniffs it, recoiling slightly. 

“You're foxed.” he says and he sounds amused, but there is something hard underneath his tone. 

“Whose foxed?” I say lightheartedly, my words slurring. “Your foxed.” I laugh at my own stupid joke. Peeta rolls his eyes at me but I ignore him, openly staring at his chest. 

“Katniss?” Peeta asks, snapping his fingers in front of my face to attract my attention. I shake my head to clear it and look up at him. 

“You're a total creep when you drink.” he mutters as I narrow my eyes at him. 

I open my mouth to say something biting or witty perhaps but instead I lean into him, intent on pressing my mouth against his for just an instant, hungry for that warmth he always carries about him. 

“Katniss, don't.” he says, stepping away from me. I crinkle my face and point my finger to his chest.

“You wanted to kiss me earlier.” I accuse, my words sloppy as I lean to far to the left and I almost fall, Peeta steadies me with a quick hand. 

“I always want to kiss you.” He says simply. “However, you're drunk and sure to regret it in the morning.” 

“Don't tell me what I'll feel.” I spit barely tasting the words, anger flashing through me. Peeta sighs, a weary sound and I want to collapse beneath it.

I open my mouth to say something but promptly vomit on his feet.

“Brilliant.” he mutters but holds my hair out of my face as my stomach lurches. When there is nothing to heave up anymore my stomach twists painfully and I let out a whimper. 

“Stay here.” Peeta orders and goes inside. He is gone a while, and I wait in the mud, the world spinning around me. I wrap my arms around my knees and rock uselessly. When he finally steps out onto the porch fully dressed, his brother is hot on his heels. 

 

“Mom is going to have a meltdown.” Rye says “You can't just leave, what if she notices.” 

“If she does, which I doubt she will, cover for me.” Peeta says, slapping his brother on the shoulder.

“Its almost curfew.” his brother reminds him, grabbing his elbow.

“I'll be back before you know it.” 

“Your a damned fool, Peeta.” his brother accuses in a loud whisper.

“You sound just like her.” Peeta says, his voice light, but it stops his brother in his tracks. He can only watch as Peeta walks away. 

“Come on, little fox.” Peeta says when he reaches me, scooping me up into his arms. 

“What are you doing?” I say my voice sounding pathetic as I lean my face into his neck, willing the world to stop spinning around me. 

“Taking you home.” he hefts me up a little higher and begins to walk down towards the road.

“I can get there my own self, put me down.” I mean it to sound commanding but he just laughs.

“Sure, Katniss.” I pound my fist into his chest weakly. 

“Put. me. Down.” I demand and he huffs out a breath.

“Fine.” he snaps, setting me on my feet, the world tilts as I stumble, he scoops me back up and I relent, laying my head on his shoulder and shutting my eyes, praying I don't throw up down the front of him.

We're both quiet along time before I finally speak. “You and Madge will have a good life together.” I say softly, my words bleeding together. He doesn't say anything.

“You'll have a whole hoard of little blonde babies that will never be reaped.” I continue. My fingers are tangled into the collar of his shirt. I'm not sure if I am saying this for his benefit or mine.

“Katniss?” Peeta asks his voice questioning. 

“Hmmmm?” I'm suddenly tired and its taking all of my strength to stay conscious.

“Shut up please.” and I do for a while.

“I never wanted this, you know.” I say as we reach the gate of my house. 

“I think the day you do suss out what you want there will be a parade in the street.” Peeta says in a airy voice, but I can feel the hurt behind his joking tone. 

He knocks on my door and Prim answers, her face surprised.

“I think you've been missing this.” he says jokingly.

“That's where she ran off to.” Prim huffs, leaning in to examine me. “Is she drunk?” Prim asks incredulously.

“Three sheets to the wind.” Peeta says 

“You can put her on the couch.” my eyelids feel heavy and it takes everything I have to open them to slits as Peeta sets me on the couch. He pulls the blanket that my mother keeps on the back over me. 

I can hear my mother come in the room, asking Peeta questions, he hedges, I think he doesn't want to get me in trouble. Too little, too late, Peeta. I think to myself. 

“Where did she get this?” Prim asks

“Not too sure,” Peeta says “but you may want to pour it down the sink.”

“Like hell you will!” I snap sleepily from the couch. 

I think Peeta is laughing at me, I can't tell with my eyes screwed shut. 

“Go to sleep, Fox.” he says and I grumble something unintelligible at him. When I am sober I will have to tell him that I hate his new little nickname for me. 

I feel a heavy weight at my feet and open my eyes, finding Peeta sitting near my feet. 

“You're going to have a hell of a headache in the morning.” he says “Be sure to drink a lot of water.” I groan in response, on the cusp of sleep.

“Sweet dreams, Katniss.” He whispers, standing up to leave. I reach my hand out and grasp at his hand desperately, pulling him back down to the couch. 

“Stay with me.” I say sloppily, sleep overtaking me, just as I tune out I hear him say something, but it bleeds into my dreams and I don't catch it. Yet, it fills me with comfort, lulling me into darkness, yet somehow, I know that I am not alone, maybe I never was.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to gather Peeta up and carry him to the woods, where its safe, where we can shut out all of the prying eyes of the district. Where Cray can't touch us. I want to find a place in the shade of an oak tree and see what he looks like next to the lake. I want to show him the little places that bring light to my life, places where my father taught me to gather berries. Places where my father taught me to shoot. I want to kiss him in the tall grass. 
> 
> I want his love.
> 
> I want to be drunk on it, human love, rank and tasting of sweat, salty and sweet. I want to crawl into his lap and taste summertime on his lips, as his fingers tangle in my hair, like they do now.

My Father stands next to me, arrow nocked, he turns to regard me with cool eyes. His hand moves to my shoulders, straightening my spine. “Good girl, now spread your feet a little more.” I do as he says and he circles me. I shift nervously, my lips pressed together, the bow in my hand quivering slightly. 

“That's good.” he says, his voice soft and crackling against the quiet of the forest. “Now take in a deep breath.” I do as he says, taking in a long, deep breath through my nose. The air is cool and sweet. It smells like freedom.

“Now release.” He whispers and as I exhale I let my arrow fly, it sails through the air and I can only watch dejectedly as it sails passed the tree that I was aiming at. I let out a huff, dropping my bag to the ground, it makes my father laugh. 

“Don't fret, Kitten.” He says, kissing my hair. “When we miss, we must simply try again.” 

He runs off to retrieve my arrow and I can only watch as he moves away from me. 

I miss him already.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

My dream is already receding when I open my eyes.

 

The room in bathed in the lavender light of morning, my eyes pop open of their own accord, though they feel heavy and swollen. I make a noise at the back of my throat, a hoarse croak. Prim has drug our old mattress out from our room, its threadbare and bits of hay are poking out from holes in the fabric. She looks tiny beneath an old quilt, with her cat curled against her stomach. He watches the room with indifferent, yellow eyes. He's watching out for her, ready to pounce on anything that might come across her. 

My head is throbbing and my stomach flip flops in my gut. I make another small noise in the back of my throat, running my fingers down the length of my face. I take a small breath and gag on it. 

“Morning Haymitch.” a voice says from the floor, I only now notice that Peeta has been sleeping next to the couch. 

“Piss off.” I mumble, pulling my blanket tighter around me and burying my face in the arm of the couch. My neck is stiff and my arm is numb. Peeta laughs a soft chuckle that sounds so out of place in my house. I peek up through my eyelashes to study him, he looks entirely different and I can't place why. 

Maybe its the coal dust that coats everything in my house, maybe its the way his curls are matted around his face, maybe its the early morning light. His face is creased with sleep and his eyes look electric against the dying embers of the fire. 

“I'm sorry.” He says with a smirk that tells me he isn't sorry in the least, but I decide to forgive him, if only because my head hurts too much to care about his teasing. I groan and lean back. 

“I'll get you some water.” he says and for a moment I can only listen to the soft sounds of him rummaging through our cabinets and then the soft tinkling of water. 

“Here.” he offers me the water and I struggle to sit up. He sits on the edge of the couch at my knees and watches me carefully as I take small sips. Slowly the pounding in my head dulls slightly and I am able to open my eyes without the room spinning.

“There is something I've been meaning to say to you.” He starts

“Please, don't.” I say softly, because my head hurts and I don't have anymore room for sadness.

“Cray threatened me didn't he?” He says without preamble, his voice cutting through the room. I motion to Prim and then I press my fingers to my lips. I gather my blanket around my shoulders and step out the back door. 

Peeta and I take a seat on the creaky wooden steps, just to our left Lady, Prim's ancient nanny goat comes over to us, and when she realizes we don't have any food for her, wanders off, disinterested. 

“How'd you know?” I ask in a soft voice.

“Come on Katniss.” he snaps, his voice rigid, “Your rather predictable in the way you protect people.” 

I let out a sigh and chew on my lip. “Am I that transparent?” I ask

“Only a lot.” he says with a humorless laugh, his face grows serious, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“You realize what he's doing right?” Peeta says, his voice hard with something I recognize, something that has slipped into my life easily. Hatred.

“What?” I mumble weakly

“He's controlling you, poisoning you, tethering you to him.” I think of the fence humming with electricity, the way he shoved Prim towards it, the look of satisfaction on his face. 

“He tells me he loves me, and it makes me sick.” I say, my voice not sounding like my own. The memory of Cray whispering to me in the dark makes my already rocky stomach roll. I swallow a gag.

“He doesn't know love.” Peeta says and I think its suppose to sound hard, but his voice sounds sad, like he might cry. 

“He wants your love, but will settle for your fear.” He adds in a pathetic whisper, his hand running through my hair, and I find myself leaning into his hand. 

“He's trying to take what I love most about you.” His eyes are so blue against the hazy light of morning. I find that my head winds its way into his lap, he makes a soft noise from the back of his throat as his fingers thread through my tangled braid, brushing my scalp. I am humming with a weird, wiry energy. Peeta has a way of doing this to me. 

“What is that?” I ask, my voice soft and low, my eyes fluttering shut. 

“Your will.” he sounds broken. “Your fire.” 

I want to cry.

I want to tremble.

I want to gather Peeta up and carry him to the woods, where its safe, where we can shut out all of the prying eyes of the district. Where Cray can't touch us. I want to find a place in the shade of an oak tree and see what he looks like next to the lake. I want to show him the little places that bring light to my life, places where my father taught me to gather berries. Places where my father taught me to shoot. I want to kiss him in the tall grass. 

I want his love.

I want to be drunk on it, human love, rank and tasting of sweat, salty and sweet. I want to crawl into his lap and taste summertime on his lips, as his fingers tangle in my hair, like they do now. 

I look up at him through the fluid wall of my hair and he isn't looking at me, he stares off into the distance. 

He must sense me looking at him because he smiles crookedly, though it doesn't light up his face. 

“Your a ghost, Katniss.” Now he looks at me, and I wish I could look away, because the look he gives me makes me hollow. “You're almost gone.” His fingertips trace my cheekbone as he connects my freckles in an invisible line. My skin where he touches me feels raw, burnt. 

“Don't let him take you from me.” His voice is barely a whisper, I wonder if its real, I wonder if I am dreaming. 

I lean my head against his knee, and watch Lady chew a piece of grass. Peeta has untangled my braid with his fingers as he soothes the knots from my hair, as if he could untangle this mess I've made. I lift my head, resting my chin on his leg. 

I straighten up and stare at him, he stares right back an intense expression on his face. 

He leans towards me and everything in my body screams at me to meet him in the middle and press my lips against his.

“Don't kiss me.” I warn him, my voice is hard and commanding. He smiles that smile and I find my will crumbling. 

“I really want-” he breathes the words against my lips, his breath is sour from sleep, but I don't seem to mind. Just like that, I am putty in his hands, my body betraying me, I will give him anything to hear that crackling energy in his voice. To hear this hoarse whisper, that seems to wake something ancient in my body.

“You want what?” I ask as his hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my lips. My entire body is tingling with his proximity.

“I really want.” his head tilts and brain is screaming. No, No, No, it chants. My fingers find his curls, soft beneath the weight of my hand. “To make you some breakfast.” He smiles and stands holding his hand out to me. I shiver beneath my blanket and glare up at him, which just makes him laugh.

For a moment I can only look up at him, trying to hold onto this moment for just a second longer. 

The moment I really realize I am in love with him, the moment that I can think of nothing else. 

I take his hand and try not to cry. 

 

Prim is awake and is stoking the fire. She looks at me with wide eyes and I flush. 

“How do you feel about porridge, Primrose?” Peeta asks as we enter, her eyes don't leave my face as she smiles. 

“I feel pretty good about it.” She says as I fidget nervously with the hem of my shirt. 

“Excellent.” He says, getting to work in the kitchen. 

Her eyes narrow at me and I feel myself turning beet red. “How do you feel about it Katniss?” she asks with a smirk.

I mumble something like 'its okay' and stare at the fire. 

We sit at the table and eat in silence, Prim looking between us as Peeta and I eat. We are careful not to touch, we ghost around each other uneasily. 

“Is that a checkerboard over there?” Peeta asks when the silence gets to be too much. 

I nod, staring into my nearly empty bowl. “Maybe we should play a game?” Peeta offers and I shrug.

“I call winner!” Prim pipes up “Which won't be Katniss, she's terrible at it.” My head shoots up as I glare at her. 

“Wouldn't be fair if she got all of the talent, would it now, Prim?” Peeta winks at her. 

“She snores something awful, too.” Prim offers up. Peeta laughs as he leans back in his chair, his eyes dancing. 

“Geezum, Prim, whose side are you on?” I huff and she shrugs, standing to gather our dishes. 

“Be nice to your big sister.” Peeta admonishes, but he doesn't sound very serious. 

“Big sister?” Prim guffaws, her arms filled with dishes. “I'm taller.” This makes Peeta really laugh. My mother comes out from her room, and she finds us all laughing. The sight must be something, because she smiles widely, and looks years younger than her age. 

 

We play checkers and cards, Peeta lets me watch as he sketches a picture of Lady for Prim. My mother watches us with an amused expression as she mends socks from a chair by the fire. 

“I guess I should go.” Peeta says dully as I doze with my head against his shoulder. He looks out the window almost wistfully. “My mother is going to kill me.” Suddenly, my eyes snap open. He laughs but his eyes look scared. 

“I won't let her.” I say in a voice that sounds like a growl. 

Peeta chuckles, running his hand down my arm. “Katniss Everdeen, my protector.” His voice sounds joking and serious at the same time. 

We both stand and I walk with him to the porch. He pauses on the top step and turns to look up at me from where I stand. 

He looks around as if warring with himself. “Thank you for today.” he says softly and I shrug my shoulders. I wrap my arms around my middle as goosebumps spring up on my skin. 

He looks around again, and when he sees there isn't anyone around he cups my cheek in his hand. I see the look in his eyes and I try to lean away but I am trapped by his fingers as he moves closer to me. 

“Don't kiss me.” I warn, but my body gives in to the hot, violent feeling in my chest. I press my lips against his. Its chaste and soft, my bottom lip pressed against the seam of his lips. 

I feel something shatter inside of my chest as my fingers tangle in his shirt. 

He smiles against my lips. “Friends don't kiss.” he reminds me in a soft voice his fingers leaving my face as he turns to leave, turning his collar up to ward away the wind. I watch him head up the road towards to town, my fingers pressed against my lips. 

That shattered thing in my chest slowly spreads through my core and up through my bloodstream to my limbs. I try to shut my eyes but I can't stop watching as he disappears over the horizon and out of my view. I look down at the ground finally and smile, because that thing humming in my chest is happiness.

I shouldn't have smiled.

I wish I didn't. 

If I had known what was coming, I wouldn't have. 

I would have been more careful with what I show the world.

Because you never know when the wolves are watching, circling you. 

 

KPKPKPKPKP

 

“Is that Applesauce?” I ask, pointing at the book in my hand and scrunching my face. Peeta looks at the word in front of me before smiling kindly.

“Applause.” I deflate slightly, my shoulders slumping before he looks at me encouragingly.

We sit in a warehouse, near where I meet Haymitch. Its windows are hidden from the district by trees and a pile of abandoned, decayed wood. The book Peeta brought and half of his sandwich sitting in my lap. 

“If you get mustard on that book, my brother will kill me.” he says, not looking up from his sketchbook. His fingers are stained with charcoal, he has a smudge of it on his cheek. In the weeks since he left my house we've been coming here on Tuesday afternoons on Peeta's lunch hour. He shares his lunch with me and I read while he sketches. I don't have the heart to tell myself we can't continue like this. Each week I tell myself that I can't go, but find myself going anyway, as if Peeta has a string attached to me that he tugs. I can't help but follow the old path towards this place. I can't help but smile when I see him, It seems in this last few weeks he has become my greatest weakness. 

Some part of me deep inside, resents him for it. 

Something funny has happens to me, the longer I spend in the musty light that is being filtered through the dust covered glass. I start to feel stronger, like some broken part of me is being fused back together by the soft smiles Peeta gives me. 

We don't talk about Cray, or his mother, or Madge. Not here in our refuge, we leave the world outside. When we are here, we are the only things that exist. 

I take a small bite of the sandwich, ham and cheese on stale bread. I chew thoughtfully for a moment. 

“I don't think I like this book very much.” I say, my eyebrows quirking. 

“Oh yeah?” Peeta says, his eyes looking up sharply, starry blue against the buttery afternoon light. He examines me for a moment before looking back down at his sketchbook. “Why is that?” he ask

“It shakes me up, makes me feel odd inside.” I say

“Not all books are meant to make you feel nice, Fox.” he states, he is concentrating on the book in front of him as his hands work. I glare at him and even though he isn't looking at me, he senses my scowl and laughs.

“I know, but still.” I let my voice trail off, watching his eyes squint like they do when he is thinking. 

I can't help but stare at him. His curls are wild around his face and his lips are slightly parted, pink and full. He licks them and then suddenly looks up at me. He smiles lopsidedly at me. “What on earth are you looking at?” he says, his voice joking and light.

 

I press my lips together, I look away, my face hot. “You.” I mumble, studying my shoes. Its quiet in the warehouse for a moment, though outside a truck backfires, a dog barks, children play. 

“I guess I should go.” he says, standing and offering me his hand. I stand and stretch out my muscles. I hand him his book back and he fixes me with a long, lingering look, just as he has for weeks. I move to walk past him and his arm snakes around my waist.

“Peeta.” I snap warningly. “We're just friends, remember.” Am I reminding him, or myself? A stray curl falls into his face as he smiles.

“Friends can't kiss.” he says, inching closer to me. Thoughts are suddenly hard to come by. 

“That's right.” I whisper

“Kisses are pretty friendly.” he counters, running a finger across my bottom lip.

 

For a moment I want to lean into him and feel his lips against mine. I want to beg him to kiss me and make me feel better, make me feel real, make me feel anything. I don't though, I force a smile on my face and he relents, letting me go, but dropping a kiss between my eyes that makes me scrunch my face up.

“Stop making cute faces if you don't want me to kiss you.” he says, I make a big show of glaring at me.

“That's better.” he says walking from the room, his hand brushing my hip before he steps out the door.

I fall against the door as I watch him go. “Oh boy.” I whisper to myself, wondering what it is I have gotten myself into.

I wrap my arms around myself and tuck my nose into my fathers jacket, breathing in the scent of leather and pine. I turn on my heel and walk towards the seam. Its time to get ready. 

 

I walk slowly towards Crays, my throat tightening with each step I take. When I reach the square I look around for Peeta, though its stupid, He is inside, where Cray can't see us together. 

I pass by the bakery and catch a glimpse of him, he's sitting at an empty table, his hands knotted in his hair. I don't dare stop, in case Cray is watching, but his head shoots up when my shadow falls across the window. His eyes look red and swollen, heavy and empty at the same time. He offers me a small wave that I don't return, but I give him the slight incline of my head. 

His head falls again, as if he can't look at me anymore. I want nothing more than to comfort him, to pull his head to my chest and let my fingers soothe his curls down. 

Cray is coming out of his house and I hurry to stand in line. However when I reach the streetlight I stop short, Tawny Hubbard stands there in a red dress, her dark hair brushed through, and without her tangles she almost looks like someone else entirely. 

I am suddenly so angry I could spit. I push through the line of girls and hook my hand in the crook of her elbow. 

“What the hell do you think your doing?” I hiss in her ear, she yanks her arm from my grasp and levels a glare at me. 

“Works for you doesn't it?” she asks in a haughty tone. “I have a family to feed too.” 

My head is shaking back and forth. “Not like this.” I whisper and she laughs coldly. 

“Max hasn't eaten in three days, don't you lecture me.” she snarls and suddenly I have an image of Prim's hollow cheeks in my mind. When she was so little, and we were wasting away. I had someone to save me then, I had the bread Peeta threw, I had the knowledge my father gave me. She has nothing. 

My head is reeling, she's just Prims age!

Cray comes walking down the sidewalk, his boots freshly polished, neat and clean. I can't stop staring at them, not until they are right in front of me, only then do I risk a glance into his eyes, two dark pools boring into mine.

“Katniss.” he says almost conversationally. “Whose your friend?” he asks with a cold smile. I feel myself standing straighter, pushing Tawny behind me as he leers at her. 

“No one.” I say and he laughs, shoving me out of the way. 

Tawny looks so tiny next to him, Is this what Peeta sees? When I stand out here in the cold waiting to be picked like a prized pig? 

 

He reaches out and pulls the collar of her dress down. “Stop.” I whisper, my chest is hot and heavy, heaving with anger. 

“Shut up, Bitch.” He snaps at me, turning back to Tawny.

“How old are you darling?” he asks

“Fifteen.” she says and her voice lacks any of the bravado it once had, she sounds broken and lost. Anger is swelling inside of me.

Cray grabs me by the hair and drags me a few feet back. I catch the stares of the other girls, Harlow included, she swallows hard and looks at her feet. 

Cray tilts his head towards me. “I know about your little trysts with your baker.” I feel hot tears at the edge of my eyes. I force them back with a hard swallow. 

“This girl will suffer for your stupid mistake.” he promises, his breath hot against my ear as he releases my hair and I fall to my knees, scraping them against the wood. I feel hot blood trickle down my legs as he grabs Tawny and pushes her roughly. 

I can't bring myself to look up as the girls disperse, I hear mumbles and insults being slung my way but the words don't register in my head. 

“Katniss.” its Harlow, standing in front of me. “Katniss.” she says louder and I look up at her. The look in my eye must be seething because she takes a step away from me, like I am a snake in the grass. 

“This is what he wants.” she says in a no nonsense voice. “You need to get up.” 

I nod and it feels disjointed and forced. I stand on shaky legs looking to Crays shut door. I never should have approached her. I never should have let on that I knew her. She will suffer for my mistake, this is certain. Which mistake? There have been so many. 

“Go home Harlow.” my voice doesn't sound like my own, it sounds far away. My blood is roaring in my ears.

“Katniss-” 

“I said go home!” I shout and she nods, turning and walking away from me as I crumple to the ground to wait. 

What am I waiting for? I can't be certain. 

My knees burn and my scalp is throbbing and I curl in on myself as hot tears finally spill over and run down my face.

What have I done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get a little more about what is going on with the other districts and the rebellion in the next chapter, I tried to work it into this one but it wasn't working. 
> 
> Also, in the next few days I plan on posting an outtake from Peetas point of view so keep a lookout for that.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading, and I hope you are all having a lovely day!


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You're walking with the devil, my sweet girl.” she whispers softly “I'm afraid that one day, you won't come back.”

He tosses her out like garbage, sneering at me as she falls down the steps like a ragdoll. His door slams shut and only then do I stand from where I was hunched over on my heels. I run towards her, my legs can't carry me fast enough. She is a crumpled mess of bruises and I gag on the smell of blood that radiates from her. “Tawny?” I whisper, my voice trembling. She makes a small noise at the back of her throat and rolls over on her back.

Her dark hair is matted and spilt in the dirt like ink, I press my hand into my mouth to stifle a gasp. I kneel down in front of her and push her bangs from her face. One eye slits open the other is too swollen. 

She tries to say something, my name I think. 

“We have to get you home.” Tears are pouring down my face as I try and help her stand, she is dead weight against me and I have to stop every few feet to rest. 

As I am reaching the edge of the square I hear Peeta call my name. My nostrils flare, even though my head knows this isn't his fault, I am angry with him. Its easier to blame others for our problems and that is what I do. 

I turn to look at him my face an impassive mask. 

“Leave me be.” I say in a cold whisper, he looks smaller, he shrinks back into the shadows. Knowing nothing he can say will make this better, I shut him up, finally, for once. 

I turn back to Tawny, whose head falls against my shoulder. “Its going to be okay.” I whisper in her ear. She whimpers softly as I drag her towards the seam.

When we reach my house I fling the door open, depositing Tawny just on the other side. I fall against the door, exhausted. 

Prim and my mother come out and both are speechless at what they find. Tawny in a puddle on the floor, and me sobbing into my bloodstained hands.

“Katniss?” my mother questions, her voice trembling.

“Mama, help her.” I stammer out, tears leaking down my face. My mother sets to work on Tawny, and Prim comes to look me over as I wave her off.

“Its all her blood.” I snap, after that Prim leaves me alone. 

I crawl to the bedroom and collapse on the bed, choking on my tears. My fingers twist the bedsheets and I sob harder when I see the copper staining my skin, I try to wipe it away futilely.

When it doesn't magically disappear I grow angry and stumble to the bathroom, I turn on the tap and curse when it doesn't get hot, I just want to wash that poor girls misery away from my skin.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror and it stills me.

My cheekbones are sharp, pulling my skin taunt against them. My braid is half falling out and my lips tremble. I step back and stare at myself for a moment, I don't know this girl.

I don't know anything.

My palm slams against the mirror, right over my face and it shatters, my feet skitter back and stare at the shards of glass that have pooled in the sink. I lift the largest and examine it carefully.

I wonder what it would feel like to drag it across my skin. I wonder if it watching the blood bubble up would take this pressure from my chest. 

Would it look like the blood that already stains my hands and arms. 

Would that blood help me atone for Tawny's? 

There is a sharp knock at the door and before I can answer Prim is standing in the doorway, a hand over her mouth. I think she says my name, but all I can hear is the water running and the blood pounding in my head. 

“Give it to me.” Prim demands, her voice hard and sharp. I look at her, knitting my eyebrows together. I only now realize that I cut my hand, I've been gripping the shard of glass so tight. The sight of my blood running leaves a feeling of cold indifference in my chest.

“Its nothing.” I say, handing Prim the glass. 

“What's nothing?” she shuts the water off and takes me by the elbow, leading me to our room.

“All of it.” I whisper, my throat tight and I can't look at her as I whisper. “Its all nothing.” 

“Don't talk like that.” Prim spits at me, her hard tone snapping me out of my trance. One glance at my face as it crumbles into a sob is all it takes and she is petting my hair, whispering soft, soothing things that I can't understand in my ear. 

My mother comes in, out of breath, her hair falling in her face. 

“How is she?” Prim asks, still clutching me to her chest.

“Sleeping.” My mother says, her voice weary. “Those bruises will heal, I can't speak to her heart though.” Her words come out as a sigh. 

“Someone should stay with her.” Prim says, yawning, its late and both her and my mother spent the afternoon doing rounds in the seam. Prim has school in a few hours.

“I'll stay with her.” I whisper, not looking at them as I move toward the kitchen table. 

I pull out a chair and sit, feeling cold and alone.

Prim comes into the room with disinfectant, a needle and thread, sterile white bandages. I stare at the gauze, not trusting something so clean. She reaches out for my hand and I retract it, curling it into my chest protectively.

“Don't.” I whisper, my whole body trembling violently. “Let it bleed.”

She doesn't, of course, she cleans and patches it up, and she has the decency to be quiet as she does.

Finally, Prim shuffles off to bed and the broken girl on the table squirms and mumbles her brothers name, trying to reach him. I take her hand, though if she were conscious I doubt she'd want my comfort. 

Her body stills

“Its going to be alright.” I say, “You'll be home with Max soon.” I lean my head against the table, the wood cool beneath my feverish skin. I almost immediately fall into a sleep wrought with nightmares, I wake every few hours screaming. 

Morning comes with pale light. It does nothing to quell the hysteria in my chest, only makes it easier to see Tawny's wounds. With each inch of bruised skin and each cut that becomes lit with light I feel my self slipping down into a pit, I wonder how far I have to go before I am unreachable. 

My mother comes in looking exhausted, she brews some tea and silently watches me with cool eyes.

“What?” I finally ask her, my voice hard and void of emotion. 

“You're walking with the devil, my sweet girl.” she whispers softly “I'm afraid that one day, you won't come back.” 

. I can't think of anything to say, so I stand and leave, grabbing my fathers jacket from the coat rack I storm outside, slamming the door behind me. I almost trip right over Peeta. He sits on the steps, his hands wringing together.

“What are you doing?” I shout at him, he looks up at me with those eyes of his, blinking up at me stupidly. I control the urge to slap him across the face, if only to wipe that look of sympathy from his face. 

“Is she okay?” he asks and it drags something violent through me.

“What the fuck do you think.” I snap

“What did I do?” He asks and it softens me, only slightly, of course someone as good and kind as Peeta would think that he did anything wrong. I swallow hard and lean against the railing, it groans beneath my weight.

“Nothing, Peeta.” I say tiredly “You did nothing wrong.” He nods, looking at his hands.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally looking up at me with an expression that breaks my heart.

“No, I'm not.” I say “I'm not okay.” My voice breaks and he stands, opening his arms to gather me up. I just stare at him until he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I think, I haven't been okay for some time.” My honesty surprises me and I look around, people staring openly at us.

I only now realize that I am still covered in dirt and blood, I haven't fixed my hair. I hadn't thought about that when I fled my house, I was only looking for escape. 

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” I ask, dreading what I have to say. 

Peeta nods and takes my hand, leading me to our warehouse, the one that has become such refuge from the world. 

The sky smells like raindrops. Winter blowing itself out, surely, but she still has one last harsh breath left in her throat. 

The sky cracks with thunder.

Let it rain, let it beat against me, wash away all this pain I have had stored in me. Let me come out of it cleansed with fresh, new skin. 

As soon as the door is shut behind me, Peeta turns on his heel to look at me. Those star-eyes of his wide and innocent. I will have to break him again, but let this be the last time. Let Peeta Mellark forget my name, let him grow to love Madge, a girl who is clean and whole. Let him cook her breakfast, and tell his secrets to her, and pass down his bloodline and have beautiful blonde children that won't know hunger or reapings. This is all I can hope for him, so he will have it. 

Something that is certain, I will never forget him. I will always taste his name sweet on my tongue. He will be my always and my never.

We just look at each other for a long time, neither of us seem in the mood for talk. I only now notice he has his sketchbook tucked in his arm. 

“I'm sorry-” I start, not sure how to word what I am about to say. 

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing at me slightly. I shrivel under his gaze, because he looks angry, at me, and I don't know what to do with that. 

“I know what you're going to say, Katniss Everdeen.” 

“And you insist on making it harder.” I say, mocking his tone. 

“I brought this for you.” he holds out the sketchbook, and I eye it warily. He lets out a long, lingering sigh. Slipping the book back where it was tucked.

“Every day, I watch you disappear, a little more.” Its under his breath, like I am not suppose to hear it. 

He looks up at the rafters, like he's trying to hold back tears. “Do you have any idea what its like?” He asks, his voice tight with what? 

Suddenly he throws the book across the room, it slams into something glass behind me, shattering it into a million little pieces. 

“I'm watching him kill you.” his voice cracks and breaks as tears spill down his face, he takes in a heaving breath and leans against the wall. “He's going to kill you Katniss.”

“You think I don't know that!” I shout, more tears pouring down my face. 

He watches me with a careful expression, his chest still heaving with anger, tears falling from his nose to his lips. “Don't do this.” he implores softly, I turn away from him, under the guise of grabbing his book from the floor, I wipe the dust from cover and I tentatively open it.

Its a lovelier version of me. I am all over the pages, I am drawn, I am painted. One is of Gale and I standing under an awning, beneath a streetlamp. One is of me smiling at Prim as she peeks through the window of the bakery to admire cakes. One is of me when I was young, standing outside of the bakery, I am on my fathers shoulders and he's smiling up at me. I am in my reaping dress, standing in a line with other seam children, my face an expressionless mask. One is what my face must have looked like after that first violent encounter with Cray. There are so many of me with bruises on my face. One shows me huddled on a rock, crying, my shoulder blades sharp against my dress. 

Then there is me in the meadow, and I am smiling as I read a book. Its so mundane, simple, but I look like an entirely different human being.

This is what Peeta sees when he is looking at me.

I shut the book and look up at Peeta, who is regarding me with cold eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest. I resist the urge to hold the book to my chest, instead I set it back down on the ground, letting it fall shut with an snap. Peeta lets out a long sigh but his eyes never leave mine. 

“Stop looking at me like that!” I shout

He throws his arms up in a childish gesture. “How should I be looking at you, Katniss?” I don't like the way he says my name, its far too cold to be coming from Peeta. I've heard that tone from Gale, Haymitch, Cray, not him, not my Peeta.

I don't answer him, instead I slowly back toward the door, my eyes not leaving his face. I stumble over some rotted wood. I keep walking, praying I hit the wall soon, so I can turn and leave.

“Un-uh.” Peeta clucks his tongue. “You can't just walk out of here and not look back!” 

“I don't know what you want from me.” My voice sounds dead and lost. Why can't he just let me go! Why can't he just forget me?

“I want you to let me help you.” His voice has softened slightly. “I'm tired of this game, Katniss, where you pull me closer then push me away.” 

“You can't help me.” My voice betrays me by cracking. 

Its a hard truth, he knows it and I know it. How can he help me? Cray is the most powerful person in the district. Peeta is just the bakers son. I am just a seam girl, in over her head. 

Thunder crashes over head and the windows tremble with the sky's power. 

Peeta swallows hard, his adams apple bobbing. I am transfixed by the sight of it. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the curls in frustration. “You're the most infuriating human being I have ever met in my entire life.” He says, good, I think, let him be angry with me. It makes it easier to be angry with him for the things I can't control. 

“Go home, Peeta.” I say, turning to leave. 

“Wait!” Peeta shouts, it echoes through the tiny room and makes me pause. I turn to face him, to look at him one last time. I'm taken aback, I don't recognize him, this boy in front of me. There is a wall between us that he has put up. His face cold as a stone. 

Then he crashes into me. Just like the storm outside. 

And I let him.

His hands are on my face as his lips press against mine, opening my mouth so he can taste me. Then his hands are in my hair, then they are everywhere. 

I feel as if I am made of fire. 

He presses my back to the wall, his hand capturing my wrist to hold me there, his other hand is splayed against my thigh. I find my body relenting to him, melting as I pull him closer and as I do, I find its not close enough. 

We don't speak, there is no time for it. 

My legs hitch around his hips and he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing. As my back arches into him I have a single thought. This is a huge mistake, I will regret this. 

I already do.

Because this isn't the boy I know, those walls are up and all I can see is pain and need on his face. 

He is trying to hold me here with him. 

As he sets me in the dirt, his weight heavy on top of me, my fists tangled in my hair. He leans up to look at me, his fingers brushing my lips as he pants. He opens his mouth to speak, those blue eyes darkened with something I've never seen before. 

“Shut up Peeta.” I demand, breathless and small underneath him. 

He snaps his mouth shut and nods, and our mouths connect again, both of us entirely helpless to stop it. 

Being with Peeta is something entirely new for me.

Where Cray leaves me broken and bloody, Peeta lifts me up.

I have connected sex with horror and bloodstained sheets but with Peeta all I can feel are windows opening; letting in light.

 

Afterward, I lay in the dirt, Peeta pressed into my back as I watch rain laze down the windowpane. I listen to the soft sounds of Peeta breathing, even and steady as he sleeps. One of his arms is resting beneath my head, the other is wrapped around my middle, almost protectively. 

I twist myself around to look at him. A stray curl has fallen into his face and I resist the urge to gently remove it. I notice things I never have before. A small scar, so light its almost invisible, right above his eyebrow. The sharpness of his collarbone, the broad expanse of his chest and the smattering of freckles across his neck. How light the hair is that trails down his stomach. 

He seems so far away, in sleep.

I've never felt so alone.

I force myself to unwind from his arm, careful not to wake him. I dress quietly, slipping on my fathers jacket and running a hand through my hair as if it could fix this mess I've made. Peeta stirs, his eyebrows knitting together softly before his face smooths back down. It almost looked like, in that brief instance, he was disappointed in me.

Join the club, Peeta. I think.

I scrawl a message into the dirt next to him. “I'm sorry.” 

I really am, Peeta. I think.

I turn without looking back at him, slipping out the door and into the rain. 

It does little to wash away the pain that is throbbing in my ribcage. The strength I felt in Peeta's presence is waning. The rain beats against me and I walk slowly, lifting my face, allowing it to drench me. Peeta's voice ringing through my head.

“I really want to make you breakfast.”

“I think the day you do suss out what you want there will be parade in the street.”

“I was a goner, that very moment.”

“You're a ghost, almost gone.”

I want to tear at my shirt and howl at the sky. I want to cut my skin and gouge at my eyes. I want to tremble beneath the rain and carve out my heart, but I don't. I just walk, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, as I always have. 

 

This is when Haymitch finds me. He smells like he's been on a bender. “Out for a stroll?” He says conversationally as I pass by the hob. I groan and turn to look at him, there must be something in my eyes because he takes a step back, just like Harlow did last night. 

“Something on your mind, girl?”

“What do you want.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Just a conversation, is all.”

“What?” I relent, shivering in my jacket. 

“New weapons shipment is coming in, I need to know when and where.” 

“Why?” I ask

“Because, we're going to steal it.” he deadpans

If he had caught me on another day, I may have had more questions for him. I just want to go home.

“Fine.” I say, and his eyebrows quirk. I turn on my heel and walk off. I can feel his gaze on me as I head towards town, but I don't turn around, I can't, I'm too tired. 

I reach home and find Tawny on the couch beneath a blanket. She's sleeping as my mother keeps a watchful eye on her. “Has anyone gone to check on the children?” I ask.

She looks up at me, startled out of her revery. Her eyes search over me, as if she is checking me for wounds. I look away, There are so many mother, I think, too bad you can't see them. Too bad you can't fix them with herbs, you can't though, they run too deep.

“Prim brought them some soup and woke up Vera.” she says with a sigh. “Told her we think its best Tawny rests here for now.” I nod, swallowing hard, trying not to look at the poor girl.

“I'm very tired, I am going to bed.” I announce to her, she doesn't respond, just goes back to watching Tawny sleep. 

I fall onto my bed in my soaking clothes, if Prim were here she would scold me, tell me that I'll catch a cold. I don't care, I just crawl beneath the blankets and almost immediately fall into a shallow sleep, and dream of Tawny's screams.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then there he is, all blonde curls and blue eyes and for a moment my heart stutters.
> 
> As if it wakes up, as if to say, there you are, with those ocean eyes. 
> 
> I finger the cufflink in my pocket and wonder if he is missing it.

I awake and my room is bathed in gray light. I am sore, and exhausted, my hair is a rats nest and my mouth tastes tart and stale. I sit up and almost immediately fall back against my pillow. Rain is pounding furiously against the roof, the wind screams its dissent and all I can do is quietly listen.

I decide I am not getting up.

I burrow deeper in my blankets and shut my eyes against the light. 

I do this for three days.

I refuse the soup my mother brings, though I am hollow through. She tries her best to coax me up and out of my covers. She tries to get me to drink tea, eat toast, move, but I resist. Finally she resigns herself to petting my hair, saying soft things in my ear that make me feel small. 

I stay huddled in my cocoon of safety listening to the desperate rap of the rain until my sister has had enough of my weakness and comes to stand over me with her hands on her hips. Her blonde hair is tied up in a blue ribbon that matches the dress she is wearing and I can't stop staring at her muddy boots and tight swathed legs.

“Katniss, what are you doing?” she asks in a firm but sympathetic tone. 

“I'm very tired, I just need to rest.” I try to sound reassuring, but my voice is hoarse from disuse and my arms throb just thinking about trying to sit up. 

“I understand that, but you need to get up and eat.” 

“No.” I say simply, my tone flat.

She sighs, a long suffering sound that gets trapped in her throat. I roll over to face the window, she is quiet a long time before I hear her gentle footfalls. I shut my eyes with relief and let my bone melt into the mattress.

I am not sure how long she lets me rest, but when she does come back its night, and she's holding a plate. The scent of it makes my stomach churn. Not that, anything but that.

“Peeta came by.” she says almost conversationally, and I roll onto my back. My head throbs with the effort. I know he came by, that isn't my mothers bread she's got on that plate. Still my voice betrays me.

“Peeta?” I ask weakly as she nods. 

“He was looking for you.” she says

“I don't want to see him.” 

“I know, but he left you this, I think it would be rude for you not to eat it.”

“What is it?” I ask and she smirks triumphantly.

“Cheesebuns, your favorite.” 

Of course, when I let it slip I loved the buns that his father sells with cheese cooked on top, Peeta suddenly made a habit of bringing them by. I sit up a little, enticed by the smell. 

She hands me the plate and I stare down at the bread, something empty spreading through my chest. My hands are still stained with Tawny's blood, and dirt. My sister pets my head as I pull the bun in small pieces and leave them on the plate.

“I'll boil you a bath.” Prim says encouragingly, I can only nod and stare at the bread.

“Eat.” she demands as she rounds the corner, a smile pulling at her lips. 

I take a small tentative bite, the effort of chewing makes me incredibly tired. I set the plate aside on top of the covers and lie back down. I shut my eyes before any thoughts can invade my brain. I don't want to think about little Tawny Hubbard or Peeta or my sister, I just want to sleep and forget this whole mess.

Then my sister is dragging the blankets off of me, my skin prickling at the cold. My mother is dragging me up to a waiting hot bath. I lean on my sister as I climb in the tub, hissing as the hot water hits my cold skin. 

She washes my hair and soon the water is dark with dirt. She hands me the soap and leans back, her arms red from the water. 

“Peeta seemed different when I talked to him.” My ears perk, though I don't want them to. 

“How so?” 

“He seemed...” her lips purse together, as if she is choosing her words carefully. “grim.” My eyebrows furrow together at her choice of words. 

“Peeta isn't one I would call Grim.” I say, hugging my knees to my chest.

“My thoughts exactly.” She sighs and takes the soap I've been staring at and begins to rub it against the skin between my shoulders. 

After an insufferably long silence she gathers the courage to ask. “What happened?” 

I swallow hard and look away from her gaze, feeling dirty and empty. It seems like my silence is an answer in and of itself. She lets out a long breath.

“He loves you, you know.” I lean back, letting the water hide as much of me as possible.

“I know.” I say quietly, watching the steam unfurl from the top of the water. 

“Whatever you did, he'll forgive you.” 

“I know.” I say, softer, I don't need my sister to remind me of this.

“Then what's the problem?” she asks, tilting my head so she can get my neck. “You'll talk to him, maybe he'll be mad, but you'll work it out and he'll forgive you.”

“That isn't the problem, Prim.” I whisper, the truth exploding in my chest, making my eyes tired all over again. “I won't forgive myself.” 

My sister gets me in a clean nightgown and coaxes a few more bites in me before she will allow me to crawl back into the bed. She follows me and lets me rest my head against her chest. 

Here in the darkness, where I can't see her face is when I tell her everything, the words spilling unbidden from my chest. She listens carefully as I tell her every secret I've been carrying around within me since I started lying with Cray. I don't even omit sleeping with Peeta. She runs her fingers through my still damp hair as I admit I left him sleeping in the dust, with only a scrawled message as company. 

“I've made such a mess of things.” 

And bless my sister, she doesn't offer any useless platitudes, she doesn't tell me it will all be okay, she doesn't try and fix anything. 

“You aren't Mom.” she says

I nod, burrowing my nose against her neck. 

She kisses my forehead, “I think you should talk to Peeta.” she says with a yawn.

“Maybe.” I say uselessly, and by the way she chuckles I know she isn't buying it.

The next morning I make myself dress and head to town. My mother gives me a tea to drink, watching me as I force it down my throat. “It'll help you not be so...” she pauses as if she doesn't want to offend me. “Tired.” she says lamely, patting my chin. 

I fight my urgue to bristle, instead I sling my guitar case onto my shoulder and walk to the door. Something catches my eye when I pass the hearth, my hunting knife, glinting in the early morning light. I pause with my hand on the handle.

It smiles up at me. 

I smile back.

I slip it into my boot and shut the door quietly behind me. It seems time hasn't stopped just because I did, people are all around, taking advantage of the warm sun. An elderly woman tends her garden. Children run in the muddy street. Miners walk lazily toward town, their hands darkened with coal dust. A line of peacekeepers march toward town. 

I swallow hard and force myself back into the world. 

I spy little Abby Hubbard in her yard as she peeks out at me from behind a tree. I pause at the gate and smile at her. 

“Good morning Abby.” I try to coax her out, as soon as she smiles I hear the clank of the screen door, to find Tawny looking at me with her hands crossed over her chest. She still looks like she can hardly stand, her face a sickening purple-gray-yellow color. The large cut above her eye is stitched together neatly, her eye is still swollen, but you can see the chocolate brown of her iris a little. Her lip is fat and its a struggle to understand what she says. 

“What do you want?” she snaps as Abby runs over to hide behind her legs.

“Uh, Nothing.” I stammer out, my chest suddenly feeling tight. “Just saying hello to Abby.” She fixes me with a stony expression and I find myself slinking back. Someone, Vera, probably, yells at Tawny in a garbled scream.

“Sorry.” I mumble before running up the hill towards town.

I find a quiet corner in town against a tree near town and pull my guitar from its case. I run my fingers over it reverently, relishing the feeling of the cool wood against my fingertips. I pull it out and begin playing a song I've played a thousand times, if only because I know it by heart. I ignore the pulsing pain in my cut hand. 

As the midday sun glares down I gather my things and begin the trek home, exhausted, but at least Prim should be happy I actually got out of the house for a few hours. I am rounding the corner by the shoeshop when I run headfirst, literally, into Madge Undersee. The last person I want to see.

She's dropped the parcel she is carrying and is muttering a flustered apology as she scoops the package from the mud, until her eyes meet mine and she drops it all over again.

“Oh, Katniss.” it comes out as a breathy sigh as she bites her lip and looks away from me. 

“Madge.” I bite out, narrowing my eyes at her. 

“How are y-” her large blue eyes widen as she points to me. “Your hand? Are you alright.” 

I look down to see that my stitches in my hand have popped open and I am leaking blood onto the sidewalk. 

I just stare at it for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, I wipe the red onto my pants and clear my throat.

“ You should get that taken care of.” she says nervously “You must be in pain, does it hurt?” she asks, looking concerned. I look up at her, and she shrinks a bit under my glare. She fiddles with her blonde hair and her eyes, so big and wide set, flit here and there. I am making her extremely uncomfortable and for a moment I wonder idly if Peeta told her of our time together. 

My chest tightens and suddenly I am so tired I can't even think. “Yeah,” I mumble “All of the time.” I push passed her and keep going, I don't need or want her sympathy.

She calls after me and I ignore her.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

 

“I need bread.” my mother says, dropping some coins on the table in front of me. I let out a long suffering sigh.

I can hear Prim snicker softly from somewhere behind me. I control the urge to snap at her as I stare at the pretty gold coins in the flickering candlelight. 

“Go get it your own damned self.” I snort, leaning back.

“Please Katniss, I've spent hours on this stew, and I want a loaf of sourdough to go with it.” 

I let out a noise from the back of my throat and stand, shoving the coins in my pocket. “Need anything else while I'm out?” I snap. My mother just smirks at me in response. 

“Say hello to Peeta for me!” My sister calls out as the door slams behind me. 

I burrow down in my jacket, its been two weeks since I last saw Peeta, and I have been a coward, sending Prim to the bakery for anything we might need. If I head to town I give it a wide berth, choosing to walk through the square. I keep my eyes trained forward when I walk to Crays. 

He doesn't chase after me either. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him. I tell myself its better this way, a clean break will heal better in the long run. Yet, if my sister and mother have their way, I'd be in this bakery every damned day.

I pause with my hand on the door handle, my heart beating against my chest. I can see the middle boy, Rye, manning the front, I look around for Peeta but he isn't there. I let out a sigh of relief, maybe I can get in and out intact and without running into him at all.

As soon as I step into the warm light, kicking the mud from my boots, Rye is rolling his eyes.

“Pe-” 

“Shhh.” I say, cutting him off. He fixes me with a hard stare and I level one of my own. Then a glint of mischief runs across his face as his eyebrow quirks.

“Peeta!” he shouts “Someone here to see you.”

“Jackass.” I mutter under my breath. 

 

Peeta comes around the corner with a basket of bread in his arms, he nearly drops it when he sees me. His brother leans in and whispers something in his ear that I can't understand and Peeta blushes so bright he is nearly purple. I look down at my boots, suddenly wishing I could meld with the floorboards.

“Katniss.” there is something dreadful in his voice, something so unlike him. It isn't the angry or hateful tone that I was expecting. It sounds resigned, it sounds so tired. 

“Peeta.” I say, not looking up. I feel a flush creeping up my neck. My mouth is dry and I can't seem to swallow correctly. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” 

My eyes refuse to look up, I shove my hands in my pockets, just to give them something to do. “I need a loaf of sourdough.” I squeak

“What?” he sounds genuinely confused, I clear my throat and force my eyes up from the floorboards. 

“I need a loaf of sourdough.” I bite out, finally meeting Peeta's eyes.

He looks tired, the underbelly of his eyes stained purple. His hair is mussed and he has a faint sheen of sweat, from working in the back, probably. It reminds me of the way he looked as he slept in the warehouse. 

His eyebrows knit together and for a moment he looks incredulous, like he can't believe I would be asking for something so mundane. Then he goes rigid, there it is, that thing I was prepared for. Fire, lighting the blue of this eyes. 

He nods, swallowing whatever he wants to say to me. 

He sets down his basket and turns around heading back towards the kitchen. I let myself cave for a moment, leaning against the counter tiredly, and thats when I spy it, a cufflink on the counter.

It could be anyone's cufflink, Peeta's fathers, his brothers, a customers even. Something deep inside of me tells me its Peeta's. Its tiny and silver and I am sure I have seen him wearing it. 

Stealing is punishable by death, and I can't help myself, I slip it into my pocket. 

He comes back out with a loaf of still warm bread wrapped in wax paper, he hands it to me, careful not to touch me. I offer a tight smile in return and hold the coins out. He just stares at my hand, stepping away from the counter.

“You've got to be kidding.” he murmurs, almost to himself, and gives a cold laugh that jars me and makes me feel open and exposed. 

He watches as I set the coins on the counter, I turn on my heel and make a beeline for the door, each breath I take catching in my throat. 

“Katniss!” he shouts, jumping over the counter to catch up with me. I have the door open in heartbeat but he shuts it quickly, blocking me in. “Wait, please.” 

He's far too close to me. I can feel the heat radiating off of him and it feels so good I have to make my whole being rigid not to step toward him. He smells like cinnamon and soap and dill and aftershave. I want to scream and gasp at the same time. My eyes slide up slowly to find him looking down at me, a perplexed expression on his face.

“Just talk to me, five minutes, please.”

“Peeta.” I say, my voice tight and laced with anger. “Move.” 

“No.” his voice has a stubborn quality to it. I idly wonder if I could shove him and I decide it would be like trying to shove a brick wall. 

“Peeta.” I say again, locking my jaw. 

He lets a noise out of the back of his throat, we're caught in a dead lock, neither of us willing to back down. 

“Let me go.” I command.

“I can't.” he whispers, and for a moment all I can think about is the feeling of his breath against my neck, how I would give anything to feel it again. 

“You have to.” He gives me a long, pleading look before opening the door, the cold air blasting in, and bathing me in cold air like a balm. 

“Anything else you need, Miss Everdeen?” he asks, as if he's never met me. His jaw is tight, I can see the effort he makes not to look at me.

“Prim says hi.” I say softly before I step out the door, clutching the bread tightly against my chest, so tight, its practically mush by the time I get home. 

 

Its another week before I see him again, I have my guitar strapped to my back and Prim trailing behind me, admiring the storefronts. I am not paying attention to where I am walking, trying to listen to Prim as she chatters on about her school friends and Rory. All she can talk about is the upcoming Spring festival. The warmth in the air has brought with it a hopeful tone and merchants have begun to set up stalls outside. 

Then there he is, all blonde curls and blue eyes and for a moment my heart stutters.

As if it wakes up, as if to say, there you are, with those ocean eyes. 

I finger the cufflink in my pocket and wonder if he is missing it. 

He freezes in place, his hands shoved in his pockets. For a moment something flashes across his face, pain. Then that wall goes up, and his eyes go still, flat.

He walks right passed me, with only a curt “Pardon me.” I slump against the railing.

As soon as he is out of earshot Prim is at my side. “He hates me.” I say more to myself then her. 

“Maybe if you actually talked to him, you'd realize that he doesn't.” Prims nagging voice seeps into my thoughts and I shoot her a look.

“You just left him in the dirt Katniss.” she says imploringly “I'd be pretty pissed off about it too.” She shrugs her shoulders as I stare after him.

“Then you have the nerve to shut him down when he tries to talk to you about it.” she continues when I don't say anything. “Pretty rude, if you ask me.” 

I roll my eyes at her and she smirks. 

“Hurry up and make up, I miss his Dad's cookies.” 

I only watch as Peeta disappears in the crowd of people, not sparing a backwards glance.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I caught you down the line but I couldn't stop you moving.  
>  And when I found you by the riverside It's waters wild and wide   
> you left me again.  
>  Oh lover I'll see you there  
>  waiting in the willows with your autumn hair  
>  Oh lover I'll see you there   
> after many miles.

Cray purses his lips as he walks the line of girls, He pauses at Harlow, tilting her chin up to examine her more closely. I choke down bile as he reaches me making a soft clucking noise with his tongue. 

“You look like shit.” he comments, pulling a length of my bangs out from where they were tucked by my ear.

“You've looked better too.” I snap, inwardly groaning at myself. 

Cray only chuckles and motions for me to follow him. I do as I am told, barely having to think about it anymore. 

As soon as the door is shut behind us he turns and looks at me, his eyes fluid and glassy. A bottle of white liquor already polished off, sits on the table. He takes a step closer to me, his nose pressed against my neck, I fight the urge to gag. 

He kisses me wetly on the spot of skin between my jawbone and earlobe. For a moment my body goes rigid. Peeta kissed me there too, and for a brief moment I wonder if Cray knows, that Peeta and I slept together, if he can feel the remnants of Peeta, if he can smell him on my skin, if he can taste him on me. 

His arms circle my waist.

I feel something hot and dense in my chest as my stomach rolls. I feel my muscles tense and I can't do anything to stop them. I shove him away from me. I feel like it isn't me doing it, I'm watching from somewhere outside my body. 

Cray stares at me his eyes unfocused as he lurches forward and grabs me by my hair. 

“Who do you think you are?” he asks, and the question hangs in the air between us. I think of my father for a moment. 

“Go around cringing like a dog, Katniss.” he whispers in my ear. 

“Katniss Everdeen.” I say, my spine ram rod straight. His finger reach out and touch the skin on my cheek, so softly, like Peeta might do, and it leaves a raw ache in my chest. 

He grabs me roughly by my neck, pulling me closer so I can smell the liquor on his breath, the sweat on his skin. 

“You're nothing.” He whispers, so soft in my ear I can hardly tell what he is saying. He releases my neck but as I reel back on my heel he hits me. For a moment all I can feel is white, hot pain. My vision swims and my cheek burns.

“Get in my bed and wait for me.” 

“Yes sir.” I say, but there is something new in my voice, an edge of sarcasm, my tone biting. In fact, I fight the urge to salute him. No, I remain silent and I feel him watching me as I curve around the corner to his room. 

I strip down, knowing that if I don't he'll just ruin my clothes, and I climb into his bed to wait. I fight the exhaustion in my bones and run my fingers through my hair, wishing I had the ability to make it a soothing gesture, like Prim always does.

After he's done with me I wait for his even breathing, and climb out of bed, wincing as my toes hit the cold floorboards. I pad gently down the hall to his study, being careful to avoid touching the door that squeaks. 

I rifle through the papers on top of his desk, most of them fairly mundane. I do find a paper detailing that district 4 is in a full uprising, interesting.

I grow frustrated and begin to open drawers, finding the bottom one is locked, I huff, blowing my bangs out of my face. I'm going to need to find a key. 

I climb back into his bed and he stirs gently.

“Where did you run off to, girl?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Just needed to go to the bathroom.” I lie smoothly, though I inhale sharply.

“Be a dear and get me a drink?” I fight my urge to roll my eyes as I climb out of bed. 

I walk to the kitchen and find a bottle of white liquor in his ice box. When I come back he's leaned up on his headboard. 

I hand him the bottle and examine myself in the vanity. My hair is tangled, and I have two large purple bruises blooming, one right across my cheek and the other on my neck. I sigh and pull my braid apart with my fingers, attempting to hide them. 

“May I go?” I ask, he takes a drag from his bottle and looks at me, that glassy look back in his eyes.

“What do you think of me girl?” he asks, his voice laced with insecurity. 

What am I suppose to say to that?

I guess my silence is enough, because he looks down at his hands for a moment. 

“Go.” he commands and for a moment I falter, unsure of what he really wants me to do. 

“Get out, girl!” He shouts, throwing the bottle he's holding in his hands in my general direction, it shatters behind me.

I walk slowly taking my time watching the night shift from the mines heading towards work. A few cat call me, whistling wolfishly. I flip one of them off and he laughs, a loud, rambunctious noise that echoes through the mostly empty square. 

“Katniss?” I whirl around, expecting Peeta, but finding his brother, leaned against a lamppost. 

“Rye?” 

“Yeah, its me.” 

“What are you doing?” I ask

“Waiting for you.” he says and the way he is standing reminds me so much of Peeta, there is an air of both insecurity and cockiness to it. Something that must be entirely unique to the Mellark boys. He runs his hand through his hair and pushes off the lamppost with his foot.

“I need you to talk to my brother.” he says

“I can't do that.” I shake my head and turn my body away, towards the road. “Its after curfew, I need to go home.” 

I am almost to the road when he finally speaks again, his voice strained. “ I don't know what happened between the two of you, frankly, I don't really want to know.” 

“Rye, will you leave me be?” I ask, he continues on as if I hadn't spoken.

“I don't know if my brother finally sweet talked his way into your pants using that silver tongue of his.” I am glad its dark because I am sure my face has turned five shades of pink. “I don't know if you got into a fight, I'm sure its his fault, he's an idiot-”

“No he isn't.” I cut him off and he smiles cheekily.

“He's an idiot when it comes to you.” I let out a huff and study my shoes, he's got me there. 

“No really,” he insists “That guy is stupid about you.” I bury the toe of my boot in the mud.

“Just, let him say he's sorry.” Rye asks, his voice pleading “He's miserable, and honestly, the kid has had about as much misery as he can take.” 

“He has nothing to be sorry for.” I say softly and he quirks his head to the side, studying me. 

“What?” I growl

He shakes his head as if to clear it. “You're just as stupid about him.” 

He turns and walks off, before he can get to far I call out. He stops but doesn't turn around. 

“Does he know?” I let the question hang in the air for a moment “That your talking to me?”

“Absolutely not.” Rye says as he climbs the steps to the bakery. “And he never finds out.” he adds as an afterthought.

I trudge the rest of the way home, trying not to think of Peeta and the way his fingers curved around my hip, fingernails digging into the soft flesh there. He had given me this soft, sweet smile, for just a moment, as my arm wound its way around his shoulders. It made the pain in my chest ebb, for just a moment. 

No, I won't go talk to Peeta, because as much as it hurts its easier this way. I don't trust my strength around him, he is a flame and I am a moth. I've been burned badly, and yes, its terribly painful, but the fire is so alluring. 

Haymitch finds me three days later, he's perched atop a barrel outside the hob. I pause in front of him as he burps loudly, cocking his head to study me carefully. 

“What do you want?” I ask

“Come for a walk with me.” he says with a sly grin and a wink. I follow behind him until we reach a clearing between two empty warehouses. I turn to watch the dusty road that leads toward the seam and a long formation of peacekeepers that march down it, their faces all impassive masks staring off into the distance blankly. 

He takes a generous gulp from his flask before turning towards me. His breath smells like white liquor.

“Something is changing.” he whispers, “People are angry.” 

I nod, I've felt it, in the hob, a rolling, hot anger as more peacekeepers roll in, in their clean, white uniforms and black boots. 

“I hear fish is hard to come by lately.” I say, chewing on my thumbnail, my eyes flit this way and that nervously. 

“That it is.” he agrees, his eyes staring out sightlessly. 

The reality of rebellion hits me right in the gut, knocking the breath out of my chest. The Capitol is all knowing, all encompassing. It seems like an impossible fight. Rebellion means death, for every one in this little backwater district. 

“We're going to be bombed to dust.” I whisper. “Just like district thirteen.” 

Haymitch gives me a wry smile, chuckling at me, my face turns hot. 

“District Thirteen went underground.” He whispers, his lips barely moving. “But I suspect you're right, sweetheart.” His eyes fall to his shoes. “We'll be bombed to nothing.” 

“District thirteen?” I whisper incrediously “They just left the rest of the districts to live like this?” I am so angry I could spit. 

“What else do you know?” I demand.

He says nothing, just keeps his gray eyes trained forward. 

“Haymitch!” I shout, grabbing his shoulder. He reacts instinctively, wrenching my hand away from his shoulder, capturing my wrist in his clammy hand. 

He is suprisingly spry for an old drunk. 

I however manage to get my foot in the small space between us, I shove him away from me with my boot and it knocks him off balance, he teeters for a moment before falling into the mud. I feel the breath go out of my chest as he looks up at me, his eyebrows knitted together before he begins to laugh.

“Maybe you should have been reaped sweetheart.” he says pushing his hair out of his face to watch as I cross my arms over my chest. “I could have worked with you.” 

“That's a nasty thing to say.” I huff as he brushes himself off and moves to stand. 

“Just get my shipment papers.” he snaps “I don't care how.” 

He leaves me gaping at him as he stumbles off. 

 

I make the long walk home, chewing on my lips until they bleed. The only sound I can hear is my breath, ragged and roaring in my ears. District thirteen? Alive? It seems impossible, how many times had I seen the footage of its rubble, still burning after all these years? 

Prim is waiting for me, her lips moving but I can't seem to formulate what she is saying. My hand reaches out and touches her cheek, the skin there soft as silk. Heat is sticky in my throat. My vision swims all I can't think of is that neat row of peacekeepers. 

My whole life has revolved around keeping her safe and alive, but Prim is far from safe, and far from untouched by the Capitols reach. They let her father die in the coal mines where he toiled his whole life. She nearly died from starvation. She is doomed to live the same life as our mother before us and her mother before her. A circle of starvation and coal dust, she deserves so much better. 

“Prim.” I force out, my voice not sounding like my own. “I need sleep syrup.” 

KPKPKPKPKP

We lie awake that night, Prim feeling so small against my chest. I do something that I haven't done in a long while. I sing to her, a song my father would sing to my mother in the kitchen as she cooked dinner. His voice is far from my reach now, but the lyrics ring out around us, bringing us to a happier time. My fingers tangle in her golden hair as her breathing hitches, I realize she is crying, tears trailing down her pale face. She doesn't dare interrupt me, her wide blue eyes caught on my lips.

 

I'll bring you flowers   
when you're dead and gone.  
Asleep in the pines   
in the valley of the mountain. Next to you I'll lay my bones   
when I've reached my prime  
, beside the brandywine where I finally find my rest.   
Oh lover I'll see you there   
waiting in the willows with your autumn hair.   
Oh lover I'll see you there after many miles.  
I swear I've known you from another time  
And I caught you down the line but I couldn't stop you moving.  
And when I found you by the riverside It's waters wild and wide   
you left me again.  
Oh lover I'll see you there  
waiting in the willows with your autumn hair  
Oh lover I'll see you there   
after many miles.   
An echo of an echo Resemblance of a sound  
and I've prayed and I've waited   
with my ear upon the ground.  
But the shovel it digs deep  
and the calluses grow over.   
Like a mirror to a mirror   
the canyons call your name.   
Oh lover I'll see you there   
waiting in the willows with your autumn hair  
Oh lover I'll see you there   
after many miles. 

 

Long after the last lyrics tumble from my lips we stay quiet, my fingers move rhythmically through my sisters long locks. A can feel the hot puff of her breath against my neck. 

“Don't do this.” she whispers, on the lip of sleep, her voice small and tiny in the darkness that enevelops us. 

“It'll be okay, Primrose, I promise.” 

But it won't

Because come tomorrow night, I'll be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Katniss sings is After many miles by The ghost of Paul Revere


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At home there is nothing to do but wait. I sit and watch the fire, my lips pressed to my knuckles as Prim tries to talk to me, but her words don't quite reach my ears, and are far from reassuring. I just stare at the fire, a past time I have perfected in the last few weeks. Welcoming the anger that is bathing me in red.
> 
> She is talking in a low, desperate tone, trying to talk me out of my plan. I want to tell her that she is the reason I'm doing this, because she deserves to never see a reaping again. She deserves to find a nice boy to marry, have sweet children with her eyes and never have to worry about not having enough, never have to worry about losing them to the capitol. She should never watch them die, miles away, with nothing she can do but cry.
> 
> And me, I'm done being a useless pawn in a game I can't win.

My neck is sticky with sweat as the summer heat bears its weight down on me. I ignore it, just happy to have sunshine. I am dressed in a white lace shift, and there are flowers caught in the tangle of my dark hair. The forest behind us is alive, cicadas buzzing and the heavy scent of the lake on the air. The mountains dark against the skyline. I reach my fingers out and graze them against the top of the hip high grass that sways in the gentle breeze. I take in a long, deep lungful of air. It tastes of freedom, something I've never felt, but now drips unbidden from my lips.

I feel something tug on my dress and look down.

I am met by a blonde boy with wide blue eyes, he looks up at me hopefully. His hair a tangle of curls as he smiles up at me, small pink flowers in his own hair. 

I recognize this boy, I've known him always.

I take his hand and look out at the crest of the valley beneath us.

“Follow the valley down to find water.” I tell him, the wind whispering my hair around my shoulders as he smiles, his hand miniscule in my own, soft against my wind chapped skin. I raise him up and rest him on my hip as if I have done my whole life.

“Turn away from the darkness.” he whispers, the valley swallowing his downy voice. 

I can only stare out at the green of the trees that dot the hillside. His arms wrap around my neck, he smells clean like the soaps my mother used to make. His skin is impossibly soft and for a moment I am completely overtaken by my love for him. When I look back at his halo of curls he is smiling, not a speck of coal dust on him. 

“Turn away and look at the light.” he whispers, pressing his face into my neck, my hair tangling with his.

“Your safe.” I whisper my voice contracting. “Always.”

The only sound for miles is the swaying of the grass and the mockingjays above, they mimic my voice, a hollow chorus of “Always.”

KPKPKPKPKP 

 

Moonlight is still spilling through the window when I wake. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Prim, who is still sleeping with her cheek pressed into my chest. I dress in a faded blue button down that belonged to my father and a pair of patched trousers, I slip my belt on tight and lace my boots up my shins. I slip my hunting knife in my boot and pull my fathers jacket over my shoulders. 

I fall into a chair near the door and watch Prim sleep, her hair spilling onto the pillow, looking almost silver in the moonlight. My fingers are fisted, my mouth pressed into my bone white knuckles. She looks so impossibly young in sleep. I feel something hot and coarse in my veins as I rise, careful not to wake her. I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead. 

“I'll be back.” I whisper, pushing her bangs from her face.

“I love you, little duck.” 

Peeta was right, I'm a ghost.

Now I am gone.

The seam is quiet, all the houses lay dark and silent. I slip through backyards and bushes until I reach the Hawthorne house. I rap quickly on the window of the room where Gale and the boys sleep. Hoping I don't manage to wake up Hazelle. 

After the third round of knocking I hear a thump and a curse. The window is pushed open with a creak that is unbearably loud in the quiet night.

“Catnip?” Gale whispers loudly, his eyes still cloudy with sleep. I feel a pang of remorse for waking him, when he only got home from the mine a few hours ago, and will have to be back in the morning, sleep is hard to come by for a miner.

“Yeah, it's me.” I say softly.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Promise me you won't let her starve.” I blurt, my tongue feels swollen in my mouth. 

“What?” he demands, wiping the sleep from his eye.

I hear Rory mutter something sleepily from inside the room. Gale turns to look at him for a moment. 

“Prim.” I explain “And my mother.” I add as an afterthought, chewing on my lip. “Promise me you won't let them starve.”

“Katniss what is this all about?” he asks, leaning father out his hand reaching for me. 

I step away from his grasp, eying his hand warily as he sighs. “Just promise me.” I demand, my voice harsh.

“Of course, I would never let anything happen to her.” he promises, something fierce in his voice. 

“Good.” I say, my voice catches and I turn before he can see the tears collecting on my eyelashes. 

He calls after me but I don't slow down, and I don't turn around.

I admire the spray of stars in the night as I walk the fence, listening to the hum of electricity running through it. I am almost to the butchers when I find what I am looking for, wild raspberries, the first of the season. There are small patches of them here or there inside of the fence, though they can't compare to the ones you find in the forest, no, these ones are small and curled in on themselves, but they will do the trick. 

I gather the few handfuls that are still edible and wrap them in a cloth I brought along, carefully tucking them in my bag. 

Now, I head for the bakery.

A swallow a lump forming in my throat that grows with each step. Dawn is on the horizon, streaking the blue-black with tinges of periwinkle. 

I slip through the alley and find myself underneath the branches that are just coming to life under the promise of spring. I run my fingers against the rough bark for a moment, before I climb up to the lowest, thickest branch to sit and wait. 

I don't have to wait long. 

Peeta comes out, flour streaked across his cheek and a bag of trash in his hand. I watch as he lifts the lid and smashes down the bag. Only then do I notice the loaves of dry, crusted bread in his other hand, he perches it carefully on top, and no doubt their will be little, seam hands who find it. Maybe that is what he is counting on.

That is when he spots me, his eyes going wide as I lean against the trunk of the tree, pressing my fingers into my pants as they begin to sweat. 

“How many times am I going to find you by this tree?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice, though it seems like he doesn't quite find it funny.

I ignore his question and jump down, rolling up to the balls of my feet. 

We just stare at each other for a long, tense moment. His blue eyes seem wary, like I am a mountain lion waiting to pounce on him. He worries his bottom lip in his teeth and looks away. Its his first mistake, it gives me the advantage. I step forward, my boots wet with dew from the grass.

He catches the movement and steps back. “Katniss?” he cocks his head to the side, studying me. His eyes narrowing to slits and his cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink.

“Peeta.” I say in return, my voice quiet against the sounds of the waking district. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, a fair question that I am not sure how to answer. For a moment I almost tell him of my dream, of the little boy who was the spitting image of him, they way I had felt standing on the crest of that hill, looking down at the valley below. A sense of safety I haven't felt since my father died overcoming me and filling my heart with something I have been to afraid to feel. Something I have come to associate with him.

Hope.

Such a dirty word, hope, its the worse emotion any one could feel. It courses through me like a violent storm, not caring about the damage that will be inflicted when it deserts me. 

Peeta looks at me expectantly as I chew on my lips, resigning myself to shutting up.

“Alright.” he says so quietly I almost don't catch it. He turns away from me, an action that seems unbearable, his shadow passes over me. His body is rigid, spine straight. 

The berries in my pocket burn a hole straight through me, he doesn't know that I'll be dead soon, not giving a lick about him or anything else. He doesn't know I'll be far away from him soon, not caring about the storm I leave behind. 

My mouth opens and flops shut uselessly, like a fish out of water. 

Somewhere a little boy waits for me, with sky blue eyes and blonde curls tousled gently by the wind, looking out over a valley of freedom. Here I am, a girl who has failed everything and everyone. I cannot, will not, fail him.

“Peeta, wait!” I shout

The look on his face when he turns around makes my heart seize in my chest, like for the first time he sees me for what I am. Broken, mistrustful, violent, heartless. 

Isn't this what I wanted? 

I drink him in for a moment, the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose, his eyelashes that catch in the early morning light, his broad shoulders and the outline of his strong jaw. The shade of his hair, thats gotten longer since he first spoke to me what seems like forever ago, on that cold November day. 

“Come for a walk with me.” My voice is hollow and low, hoarse in my throat. He quirks his eyebrow at me, but says nothing as he looks back toward the bakery for a moment. I am sure he is going to turn away from me and head back toward that open door, but he doesn't, he just takes my hand and gestures for me to lead the way.

I keep his hand in mine, our fingers tangled together, for the first time ever not caring who looks on. He is watching me, I can feel his eyes on the back of my head, but I don't turn around until we reach the meadow. I can see the fence, humming and hawing in the distance, keeping me trapped, tethered to the district. I wonder if after I die they'll shut it back off and Gale will be able to find the freedom he needs. I wish I could tell him to take my bow, give it to Prim as a reminder, that she needs to survive. 

“Katniss?” Peeta questions, his hand squeezing mine, my eyes don't leave the forest beyond the fence. It promises safety, security, food, and seems impossibly far away.

“Katniss, what is going on?”

“There is a lake beyond the fence.” I say “My father used to take me there and we'd spend summer afternoons hunting and fishing, swimming.” I swallow the lump that has only grown in my throat since I woke. 

“That sounds nice.” he says quietly, reaching out and running his fingers down my braid, it slips from his hand like water. I plop myself down, still grasping his hand tightly, pulling him down with me where we can hide from the district in the tall grass. Reluctantly, he sits next to me.

And no words are spoken as I sniffle, he doesn't offer me any useless platitudes or flowery words. He just lets me be as I let my head fall onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent of cinnamon and aftershave. His arm wraps around me as we sit in silence, my lips so close to his neck it would take no effort at all to press a kiss into it, but I don't.

The only sound for miles is the hum of the fence.

“I'll never see it again.” I finally say “That lake, I'll never see it again.” 

“Of course you will.” He says, “One day, you'll take your children there and you'll teach them everything your father taught you.” 

“I never wanted them.” I blurt “Kids, I never wanted them.” 

“I know.” he whispers.

I let my thought trail off and stand, brushing the mud from my pants. Peeta doesn't move, just looks up at me with such a familiar expression. He looks like a dog that has been kicked. I try not to think about the fact that I've been the one doing the kicking.

“I need to go,” I sniffle “Before Prim wonders where I've been.” 

He nods, still making no move to stand. “I think I'll stay here awhile.” he says, his voice shaking, just slightly. I nod, standing there for a moment studying him before I turn on my heel before I can do something stupid, like kiss him. 

 

At home there is nothing to do but wait. I sit and watch the fire, my lips pressed to my knuckles as Prim tries to talk to me, but her words don't quite reach my ears, and are far from reassuring. I just stare at the fire, a past time I have perfected in the last few weeks. Welcoming the anger that is bathing me in red.

She is talking in a low, desperate tone, trying to talk me out of my plan. I want to tell her that she is the reason I'm doing this, because she deserves to never see a reaping again. She deserves to find a nice boy to marry, have sweet children with her eyes and never have to worry about not having enough, never have to worry about losing them to the capitol. She should never watch them die, miles away, with nothing she can do but cry.

And me, I'm done being a useless pawn in a game I can't win.

I want to tell her she'll always have bread, Peeta will be sure of it. 

As dusk comes all tinged in pink and orange I stand. My mother is feeling ill, and I go to find her, sleeping soundly in her bed. All I can hear is the evenness of her breathing.

“I'm sorry.” I whisper before shutting the door tightly.

Prim is frantic now, refusing to give me the sleep syrup. “You'll be put in prison!” she shouts, tears beginning to well in her big, blue eyes. 

“Prim.” I say, my throat constricting. I grab her face between my hands and force her to look me in the eyes. “You'll be okay.” I fight to keep my voice even, am I saying it for her or for me? 

“I can't!” she shouts “I won't!” tears stream down her cheeks in earnest now. My own lip is trembling, but I fight the urge to cry. 

“Prim, give me the syrup.” I hold my hand out expectantly.

She looks at it as if it is a snake, rearing back to strike. Her eyes find my face, narrowing at me, her small body trembling. 

“I hate you!” she shouts, and I feel as if I have been slapped, my skin tingles in the same way. She turns on her heel and runs from the room. She doesn't mean it, I know she doesn't, but it doesn't take away the sting.

Maybe its better this way. 

I go to the closet where my mother keeps her supplies, I grab two vials of sleep syrup and head to the kitchen, I smash each berry in a jar, taking my time. When they're paste I dump the sleep syrup in it and mix them until they've dissolved together in a sticky goo. 

I stare at it for a moment before I shove it in a pocket. 

I can hear Prim wailing in our room, her voice carrying to me as if its a punishment. 

“I love you, little duck.” I call and shut the door behind me before I can run to her. 

I turn slowly, my braid swinging, and find the last person I expected staring at me with blue eyes wide and knowing. I can't help but huff in exasperation. 

“Come for a walk with me.” Madge says in a tone that tells me I have no choice.


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wrong, girl.” he says, his voice low. “At first you won't tell them anything, but after the pain becomes so much that you can't think about anything else, you'll spill.” he is quiet a moment before continuing. “Its nothing against you, young lady, you're a strong girl, but eventually, it will be too much and you'd give up everyone you've ever known just to make it stop.” 
> 
> “And they'll imprison everyone you know and love, in an attempt to make you talk.” My eyes shut, trying not to think of little Primrose in a dank cell somewhere, screaming my name. I fail, its all I can think. I hear the sound of glass shattering, the jar is gone, remnants of pink raspberries and syrup sliding down the wall. 
> 
> I step toward it instinctively, that last bit of hope gone.

Madge turns slowly on her heels, her cream lace flats darkened with the coal dust that permeates the dirt. Her hair is pulled into a loose knot that sits at the base of her neck, bits of star-silver hair frame her heart shaped face. Her eyes flit this way and that, wide as she takes in the few people that sit on their porches, their eyes glued to her. Does she know how completely out of place she looks in her dress that matches her shoes and blonde hair that is a stark contrast of everyone around her, especially me.

“Come on, Katniss.” she demands, her voice shaking slightly, betraying her confidence and making her sound smaller than she really is.

I fall into step with her and she gives me a sideways glance as I fidget nervously, my fingers playing with the hem of my fathers old shirt. 

“Where's Peeta?” she asks her voice sounding almost bored.

“How should I know?” I grunt out through gritted teeth, inexplicably angry at her for interrupting me. Really, am I Peeta's keeper?

She lets out a long suffering sound, something between a sigh and a tsk. 

“Katniss.” she breathes out my name, arching an eyebrow in my direction. “No need to snap.” she scolds.

“I didn't snap.” I snap.

“Where is Peeta, everyone in the district knows he follows you around like a lost puppy.” 

“Last I saw him, he was in the meadow.” I mumble, looking at my shoes. She nods and begins to cross the road, wearing a self satisfied look on her face. I want to slap her.

She is mostly silent as we wade into the weeds and scratchy knee high grass. We find Peeta where I left him, his eyes staring at an unknown spot beyond the district. 

“Peeta?” Madge says.

His eyes turn slowly, reveling that they are red rimmed, his cheeks splotchy, his lips are pale. His curls are unruly and I resist the twitch in my fingers that tells me to pat them down into place. Nothing good will come from touching him.

“Madge?” Peeta seems confused, looking between Madge and I as if we are a puzzle that needs figuring out. 

“I think its time the three of us had a conversation.” she states, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Peeta nods and stands, he shoves his hands in his pockets, his eyes can't seem to stay on mine, he looks at the dirt instead.

I can't help but notice how good they look standing next to each other. So clean and bright with twin heads of blonde, eyes wide and large. I am small in comparison, with my wiry frame and small, slanted eyes. I look away from them as Peeta looks at me, I can only wonder what he sees in me when he could have her.

Madge looks between us and lets out a huff of frustration. “Oh, for fucks sake.” She mutters before she leans into Peeta and kisses him squarely on the lips, her hand winding into his curls to hold him in place as his hands fly out at his sides, his eyes growing wide and never leaving me. I swallow hard and look at my feet, willing my breath not to hitch in my chest at the sight. Its better this way, it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to look at.

The moment is over quickly, before she steps away from him and toward me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward her, she is surprisingly strong for being so little. She presses her lips to mine and I feel my cheeks heat up as I try to push her away, her fingers pulling on my braid.

She lets me go and looks between Peeta and I, both of us blushing furiously, and looking at our feet. “We're all friends here, alright.” she snaps and we nod mutely. She nods, and trudges toward the road. Leaving Peeta and I to stare after her.

“Come on!” she shouts not bothering to look behind her as she reaches the road where she stops to wait.

“Katniss.” Peeta finally speaks to me, his voice pleading me to look at him. I just turn to follow Madge. After a moment I hear him take a hard breath and then his heavy footfalls, crushing the grass beneath his feet. 

When we finally reach Madge she is tapping her foot impatiently. “They're waiting for us.” she says vaguely and flips around on her heels, marching toward the seam. A group of children stop to stare at her as she slips down an alley lined in rusted corrugated metal and bits of rotting wood. She slips past the Hawthorne's house and down another alley until we reach an abandoned house with a roof that is caving in. The door hangs off the hinges and she shoves the door to open it slightly, motioning for us to follow her. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Peeta questions behind me, I'm not sure if he is talking to me or musing to himself. I turn to look at him, my eyes sliding over him. His white shirt is pulled taut over his broad shoulders, already looking slightly gray in the dying light of the afternoon. 

I know whats waiting on the other side of that door, Peeta doesn't.

I want to tell him that it really isn't safe, he should run and pretend he never met me. Because in a few short hours I'll be dead, and the district might be in full rebellion. I want to tell him to gather Prim and find a way into the woods, and live a life far away from the coal dust and hunger. I want to tell him that there is another life beyond this one, where you can fish and hunt and live a life far from fear, never being under foot of anyone ever. I don't speak, I only nod, because that is a life I'll never see. And though I love him, It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, because its all I have ever wanted.

I push through the door and finally turn towards him. “Come on,” I say “Watch those rusty nails.” 

 

The first face I notice is Gale's, his eyebrows raising as he takes me in, he leans against the wall and gives me a smirk. I control the urge to reach out and slap the smug look from his face. “Katniss.” he says with a tilt of his head, it feels as if a stranger is speaking to me. I press my lips together in a firm line and nod my head towards his.

“Gale.” I mimic his tone, standing on the opposite side of the room, near Darius, who eyes Peeta warily, his red hair sticking out in the dim light that pours through the window. Madge stands next to Gale, her weight shifting from one foot to the other. He looks down at her with a look that is surprisingly tender, his large hand reaches out to take hers with a gentleness he has never used with me. I swallow my questions and turn to look at Haymitch who stands in the middle of the room, looking somewhat bored. 

Peeta is still standing in the doorway, his eyes regarding everyone warily, his eyebrows raised up in question. He chews on his lip for a moment before his eyes land on mine, I look away, inexplicably ashamed at what he will find with his gaze, what he must think of me.

“What is this?” He finally asks to no one in particular, we're all quiet, Darius rubs his neck nervously. I shift my weight on my feet. Gale clears his throat. Haymitch is quiet, leveling Peeta's questioning gaze with a look of his own.

“You're the Bakers kid, right?” Haymitch finally asks, his words slightly slurred, ignoring Peeta outright. 

“Yeah.” Peeta answers, his eyes never leave Haymitch, the tension in the room growing tenfold. 

“Your Dad makes good bread.” Haymitch says conversationally, leaning against a doorframe and taking a swig from a bottle that he grasps loosely. “You're her little pet?” Haymitch motions towards me and I snort indignantly, the noise makes Peeta jump, his eyes landing on me and staying there.

“I leave that decision with Katniss.” Peeta says softly, trying to catch my gaze. 

“How sweet.” Haymitch snorts, and I roll my eyes. He catches the movement and glares at me.

“Do you know what this is, Peeta?” Madge asks

“Not really.” he breathes out, his shoulders deflating only slightly, though his chest remains puffed out slightly. He still stands defensively, his hands balled into fists at his side. 

“The rebellion.” I say in a small voice, and everyone turns to look at me. Peeta lets out a noise, running his hand through his hair. 

“Rebellion.” he breathes, his face goes through a myriad of emotion, before it seems he decides on bewilderment. 

“People are tired Peeta,” Madge says quietly “Surely you can feel it?” She adds and he nods.

To my surprise Peeta turns on me, his face incredulous, he takes a step toward me and I instinctively shrug back toward the wall. 

“You've been a part of this?” he asks “And you didn't tell me?” 

“Don't get upset boy, she was merely following orders.” Haymitch says, stepping between Peeta and I. 

“It doesn't seem like Katniss to follow orders.” Peeta observes, his eyes not leaving mine. I'm not as strong, my eyes flit away from him. 

“She's been pretty good about it.” Haymitch quips and realization darkens Peeta's face. I feel my breath quickening in my chest. 

“Cray.” Is all he says, so quiet I can barely hear him. The room becomes painfully silently as Peeta takes in this information, I hear his knuckles crack as he flexes his hands. My eyes slide shut as I swallow the lump in my throat. 

“She's been gathering information for months.” Haymitch adds in a empty voice. 

“Gathering information.” Peeta says, anger growing in his voice.

“Yes-” Haymitch starts but his thought is lost when I hear a wet crack, my eyes fly open and all I see is Peeta standing over the older man, a bruise already forming on his knuckles. 

“Peeta!” I shout, rushing toward him and pulling on his arm, I might as well be pulling on a wall, he doesn't budge. His eyebrows knitted together angrily, not even acknowledging me. He spits on the ground next to the bewildered looking Haymitch, blood already seeping from a cut on his lip. 

Finally, Peeta turns to me. “They're using you.” He hisses, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me slightly. I am not scared of Peeta, he'd never hurt me and I know this in my heart, but my mind is another story. I cringe away from him instinctively, my hands flying up toward my face. His reaction is instantaneous. He releases his hold on me, showing me his hands. I fight to control my breathing, to not show him how frightened I really was. 

He looks at me a second longer before turning his rage on Gale. “And you!” He shouts pointing at Gale, his finger inches from his face. “You're suppose to be her friend, and you let them do this to her!”

“Katniss is her own woman!” Gale shouts back, stepping forward with balled fists, towering over Peeta. Peeta however, is built like a brick wall and easily shoves Gale backward, his fingers balling Gale's shirt in his fingers and pushing the taller, lankier man into the wall behind him.

I stand frozen in place, unsure of what to do exactly.

“Just because you're fucking her doesn't give you any claim on her!” Gale throws his weight into Peeta, slipping from his grasp, breathing heavily. Peeta stares at him, daggers shooting from his eyes. All of my breath is caught in my chest, I can't move, can't speak. 

“Enough!” Haymitch shouts, shoving his body between the two men. Shooting a venomous look between them. “Gale, shut the fuck up, I think they're are maybe two people in the entire district that didn't hear you!”

He turns to Peeta, his expression softening only slightly. “Boy, I understand that this is upsetting-”

“I have nothing to do with this!” Peeta snaps, “You've wronged her, not me.” He points at me, where I stand frozen in the middle of the room. 

“Don't get self righteous on me, Mellark!” Haymitch shouts “No one forced her to do anything, she could've said no anytime, and gone on her merry way.” 

“Could she, now?” Madge pipes up, her eyes on her feet, chewing on her lips. 

“Yes.” Haymitch snarls, his voice cold. 

“How could you do this to someone?” Peeta looks at each person, pleadingly. “To her?” 

“I chose this.” my voice comes out as a squeak, barely my own. Peeta turns to look at me, a worn expression of sadness on his face. “ Tonight I am going to end it.” I hold out the small jar of sleep syrup for everyone to see.

“And what the hell is that?” Haymitch growls, snatching it from my hand. 

“Sleep syrup.” I say, my voice shaking.

“And what is it for?” Haymitch snaps. Knowing very well what it is for, his eyebrows raised, I control the urge to slap him right across the face. 

“I am going to give it to him.” I say, “And I'll get the information you need, and while he is sleeping...” I let my voice trail off, gathering every ounce of my courage I have within me to say it out loud. “I'm going to slit his throat.” 

The room is silent for a beat, I feel a hand on my shoulder and nearly jump out of my skin. “Do you understand what they will do to you when they come for you?” its Darius, his hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder. I nod.

“And what is that?” Haymitch asks, staring at the small jar in his hand. 

“They'll arrest me.” I swallow hard, feeling Peeta staring at me, and unable to meet his gaze. “Torture me, and kill me.”

“For what?” Haymitch asks, his voice softer.

“Treason.” I say “Treason against the Capitol.” 

Haymitch tightens his grip on the jar. “And what will you tell them when they're torturing you?” 

“Nothing.” I say my voice resolute, I meet his eyes finally.

“Wrong, girl.” he says, his voice low. “At first you won't tell them anything, but after the pain becomes so much that you can't think about anything else, you'll spill.” he is quiet a moment before continuing. “Its nothing against you, young lady, you're a strong girl, but eventually, it will be too much and you'd give up everyone you've ever known just to make it stop.” 

“And they'll imprison everyone you know and love, in an attempt to make you talk.” My eyes shut, trying not to think of little Primrose in a dank cell somewhere, screaming my name. I fail, its all I can think. I hear the sound of glass shattering, the jar is gone, remnants of pink raspberries and syrup sliding down the wall. 

I step toward it instinctively, that last bit of hope gone. 

“What did I tell you, the first meeting?” he says imploringly. 

“That I could kill him.” I snarl, meeting his glassy gray eyes. 

“And you will, I promise, when the time is right.” 

“This is madness.” Peeta spits, stepping towards me, “Katniss, come on.” he pulls on my elbow. I shake free from his grasp, not wanting the warmth from his hand seeping into me. I turn to look at Gale, his head is bent down as Madge whispers furiously into his ear, her face contorted in anger. 

“Katniss.” Peeta pleads from behind me. I whirl around to snap at him, tell him the truth. I don't need him. I never wanted him here, I never wanted his warmth, I was perfectly fine on my own before him. The look on his face stops me, its so open with emotion it freezes me in place.

“Katniss, let's go.” His fingers reach out and graze mine, such an insignificant movement but it fills me with a raw ache. What was I thinking? I had gone out with every intention of never coming back and I had told myself it was for the best, for the people I loved. That they might be able to live a life I would never see, and that it was okay. I didn't account for Peeta, the sweet boy that I somehow made care about me. Somehow, he loves me, despite the fact that all I tell him is goodbye. 

I don't wait for him to follow, I know he will, on clumsy feet. I slip through the opening of the door and out into the evening air, the world painted orange and red, the sun melting into the distant mountains.

“Katniss.” He breathes, his voice low and husky. I turn to face him and almost instantly he captures my face between his two large hands, calloused with years of hard work. I lean towards him, my feet stepping forward, I have every intention of kissing him but he holds me in place.

“Rebellion.” He begins, chewing on his lip as if choosing his words carefully. “Revolution, whatever you want to call it.” he clears his throat, running his thumbs over my cheekbones. “It doesn't exist.” 

“What do you mean?”I ask, my words sticking in my throat.

“One person can't change history, or the world.” the breeze tousles his hair, a stray curl falls in his face. “All we can ever change is ourselves.” 

“Do you understand?” he asks me after I am silent to long. 

“I'm so tired, Peeta.” I say finally, “I am so tired of protecting the people I love from the things I can't control.” 

He seems at a loss for words, he just pulls me to him, his body strong against mine and for a moment I melt into him. Content to breathe in the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla, to feel his comfort surrounding me. 

I am inexplicably angry with him, because he has made me want him. I want his fallible, human, clasping, selfish love. I want to be drunk with it, to tilt his head to mine and taste it. He is like a light from another room, glowing from beneath the door. He promises warmth and safety, love and security. It seems so far away, though it is so close. 

We'll never survive in this world.

“This is impossible Peeta.” My voice trembles as I run my hands down his chest.

“Lots of things are impossible.” Peeta says with an easy tone. “Until they aren't anymore.” 

I snort out a cold laugh, sniffling in the cold air for a moment. “How do you do that?” 

“What?” he asks, pulling me by my hand as he begins to walk.

“Stay so hopeful.” I wrap my hand around one of his fingers and he smiles down at our entwined hands. We reach an alleyway and he looks around before pressing me against a wall, capturing my lips against his. He tastes like vanilla and coal dust. 

It is only a moment,then its gone, he is gone. My lips cold with his loss, I find myself reaching for him, though I know I shouldn't. 

“I should go home, see to Prim.” He nods, though his eyes seem far away. 

“Katniss.” he says as I turn away. “ Don't go back to Cray.” his voice is pleading. 

“I have to.” I say, my voice imploring him to understand. 

His eyes are dark with something I've never seen before. 

“Just.” he studies his shoes. “Just don't.” 

He turns on his heel and practically runs up the hill toward town. Leaving me standing in the alley feeling colder than ever. 

I trudge home, my feet feeling like lead. I step into the candlelight. Prim is sitting on the couch her face red. Her eyes catch me, and go hard. She is standing in an instant, crossing the room in three quick strides. Her hand shoots out and slaps me across the face, hard. 

“You idiot.” she snarls, pushing me out of her way as she storms to the bedroom, slamming the door as best she can behind her. My cheek is still tingling and I have just fallen to the couch and dropped my head into my hands when the electricity flickers on. The ancient television across the room comes to life “Mandatory viewing in the square, 10:00.” flashes across the screen in blocky white letters. Then the lights go out and I am bathed in candlelight again.

A viewing in the square? 

I feel my heart drop into my stomach, because that means nothing good. 

I hear the Seam come to life around me, doors opening and shutting, people calling to their neighbors in question. 

And the only thing I feel is dread, settling deep within my bones. 

I gather Prim, who doesn't speak to me, only grabs her coat and shrugs off my hand when I try to lead her out the door. She runs ahead of me, her blonde hair standing out in the dark heads plodding up the dusty road. She leaves me behind to shove through the crowd. 

The square is packed by the time I reach it. I twist and turn, trying to catch Prim in the crowd but I don't see her, I jump up trying to look over the large man in front of me, but only see more dark heads. I let out a huff of frustration and shove more people out of the way. I see Darius and give him a questioning look, he gives me a slight shrug of his shoulders as he moves to his post. 

The screen flutters to life and everyone falls silent, an eerie sound for so many people. The voice of President Snow echoes out around us in the night. “Citizens of Panem.” I swear I hear a silent snort go through the entire crowd. 

I don't hear much else of what he says,my senses are overtaken by the sight of the people on the screen, kneeling on a stage in front of an official building in a square far from here, their faces swathed in dark hoods, hands tied tightly behind their back. I know whats going to happen before it does, I want to look away but can't. A bright flash from the muzzles of guns and they all fall, blood spatters against the lens of the camera. An old expression my father used to say ringing through my head. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.” 

My breath is stuck in my chest, and I think it must be collective because it seems everyone is frozen in place for a few beats. Then I hear it, dissent. Someone calls out angrily, something is thrown, the sound of glass shattering. Peacekeepers are shouting orders, but people shout back. A young miner I sort of recognize to the right of me screams something I can't understand, the crowd surges forward, I am pulled along with it. 

Then I fall to the ground, my hands scraping against the cobblestone painfully. I am trying to scramble to my feet when I hear the gunfire and all hell breaks loose, people ducking and running. I am knocked into and fall again, but someone catches my elbow, pulling me up. Haymitch. 

“Best to get out of here, girl!” he shouts over the din, though I am inches from him I can just barely make out what he is saying. 

“Primrose!” I shout, pushing forward through the crowd of people, shoving anyone in front of me out of my way. My voice lost in the sea of people. I am almost to the front of the crowd when I am knocked down again, my ankle twisting painfully. When I find my feet I feel hot, blinding white pain shooting up my leg. 

“Prim!” I shout, turning around and around, trying to catch sight of her, my senses blur together as another round of gunfire slices through the crowd, a man near me fall, his chest leaking red. I can't can't catch my breath, my vision swims and white stars dot my vision. 

Then someone is grabbing me from behind, arms strong and locking my arms to my side as I fight them. “No!” I howl, kicking my legs out wildly, arching my back against them. 

“Katniss, its okay, its me.” Of course Peeta would find me. I am still thrashing against him, he is keeping me from her, from my sister. 

“I need to find Prim!” I snarl “Primrose!” tears are pouring from my eyes making it nearly impossible to see. I do, however, see the bodies that stain the square red, and when I see him, I fall limp against Peeta. My whole body empty of energy. Its Atherton, the man that played the fiddle with me once, blood dripping from his lips. His gray eyes stare sightlessly at the dark sky. 

It gives Peeta just enough leeway to pull me from the crowd and drop me on the other side of the bakery door where Rye and Bannock stand in stunned silence in the middle of the room. I can hear the shouts of his mother from the kitchen from where I fell to the floor. For a moment my mind is blank, I can't breathe, I can't feel anything. Then its back, my senses come whirling back, the smell of smoke and blood in my nostrils. 

“Primrose.” I whisper and I pull myself up and forward toward the door. 

“Grab her!” Peeta orders and Rye wraps his arms around me, holding me in place. I let out a guttural noise from somewhere deep inside of me, my head twisting I bite down on his forearm, hard.

“Fuck, She bit me!” he snarls and releases me, I stumble forward, my ankle making a sickening crackling noise as I fall to the floor. 

“Prim.” I sob, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

“Katniss.” Peeta is standing over me, grabbing at my face as I try to squirm away from him. “Katniss, listen to me, I am going to get her okay, just stay here.” 

“Peeta, you can't go out there.” Bannock protests in a soft voice, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Peeta gives him a cold, pointed look before turning back to me. “I'll be back.” he promises and drops a quick kiss on my forehead before he disappears out the door, so quick I don't have time to formulate a response. 

“Peeta,” I whisper as the edges of my vision start to bleed black. “Peeta.” I breathe, my fingers scrape the wood on the floor as my eyes shut involuntarily “Peeta, don't.” I can't help it, I collapse into the darkness that envelopes me, feeling blessed emptiness stain its way through me, with the taste of Peeta's name on my lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post a little preview of the next chapter since it might be awhile before I get to post it. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> My mother leans against the dust smeared windowpane, her eyes wearing that look that tells me she is far off in her memories. Her hair hangs limply down her back, she is back in her old blue bathrobe that she wore in those first few months after my father died. Her fingers reach out and touch the glass. 
> 
> “Its a painful thing, change.” I move closer to her, I smell the rank scent of her unwashed body, the sour scent stinging my nostrils. 
> 
> “Mama.” I whisper, willing her to look at me, but she doesn't, she never does. She continues to stare out of the window her eyes two empty blue voids, caught on something I can't see, no one can. I wonder if she sees him, in the snowflakes that laze there way down to the ground, like a mystic with tea leaves. 
> 
> “It'll be over soon.” she muses, her voice sure. “One way or another, the end is coming.” 
> 
> “Mama, look at me.” I plead and she turns, but she still can't see me. 
> 
> “It hurts, change.” she says “Like birthing pains.” Her hands reach out to me and touch my face as gentle as can be.
> 
> “My sweet girl, your going to burn this district to the ground.”


	18. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mama.” I whisper, willing her to look at me, but she doesn't, she never does. She continues to stare out of the window her eyes two empty blue voids, caught on something I can't see, no one can. I wonder if she sees him, in the snowflakes that laze there way down to the ground, like a mystic with tea leaves. 
> 
> “It'll be over soon.” she muses, her voice sure. “One way or another, the end is coming.” 
> 
> “Mama, look at me.” I plead and she turns, but she still can't see me. 
> 
> “It hurts, change.” she says “Like birthing pains.” Her hands reach out to me and touch my face as gentle as can be.
> 
> “My sweet girl, you're going to burn this district to the ground.” Her voice is so hollow against the quiet that always seems to fall over the world during snowfall. 
> 
> Somewhere far off in the distance a wolf howls, the only sound for miles besides the pounding of my heart.

My mother leans against the dust smeared windowpane, her eyes wearing that look that tells me she is far off in her memories. Her hair hangs limply down her back, she is back in her old blue bathrobe that she wore in those first few months after my father died. Her fingers reach out and touch the glass. 

“Its a painful thing, change.” I move closer to her, I smell the rank scent of her unwashed body, the sour scent stinging my nostrils. 

“Mama.” I whisper, willing her to look at me, but she doesn't, she never does. She continues to stare out of the window her eyes two empty blue voids, caught on something I can't see, no one can. I wonder if she sees him, in the snowflakes that laze there way down to the ground, like a mystic with tea leaves. 

“It'll be over soon.” she muses, her voice sure. “One way or another, the end is coming.” 

“Mama, look at me.” I plead and she turns, but she still can't see me. 

“It hurts, change.” she says “Like birthing pains.” Her hands reach out to me and touch my face as gentle as can be.

“My sweet girl, you're going to burn this district to the ground.” Her voice is so hollow against the quiet that always seems to fall over the world during snowfall. 

Somewhere far off in the distance a wolf howls, the only sound for miles besides the pounding of my heart.

 

KPKPKKPKPKPKP

I gasp awake, my head swimming still in the smell of metallic gunpowder. My arms flail upwards only to be pinned at my side. I let out a shriek only to have a hand wrap over my lips.

“Be careful Ban, she bites.” Someone says to my right. 

“Geezum, will someone shut her the hell up.” A woman says, her voice sounds weary. 

“Not helping mother.” Someone else snaps.

“Katniss, calm down, you're alright, you're at the bakery.” my entire body melts into the floorboards as I slowly open my eyes, Rye looks down at me, his eyebrows knitted together, his forearm bleeding, the red trickling down toward his wrist. 

“Katniss?” he asks, the hand is removed from my mouth. “Don't sit up too fast.” I don't listen and for a moment I see spots in my vision. Peeta's father brings a glass of tepid water and Rye orders me to sip it. I set it aside. 

“Where is Peeta?” I ask, my eyes flitting from one face to another. Everything comes crashing back to me when I see the pity in their faces. 

I stand, and my ankle screams in protest. I stumble forward, Rye catching me before I can fall face first into the floorboards. 

“You need to slow down.” he insists

“I need to find my sister and your stupid, reckless brother!” I shout, shoving his hands away from me. He lets out a long suffering sigh.

“How Peeta deals with you, I'll never know.” he huffs as I lurch forward toward the door, the pain in my ankle unbearable. Despite myself, I make a face and Rye blocks the door with his body.

“Peeta needs you stay right here.” he tries to reason with me. I grit my teeth, the sound echoing in my ears.

“Rye, move.” I say, my voice low and cold.

“Just let her go.” His mother snaps, taking a drink of what I suspect is white liquor. “Let the peacekeepers deal with her.” 

“Listen to your mother, Rye.” I say 

“Finally something she and I can agree on.” His mother quips from behind the counter.

“Have another drink mom.” Rye snorts

“Move!” I shout

“He'll find her, you're hurt, you can't go back out in that crowd Katniss.” 

I crouch and grab the knife from my boot, straightening in record time, he hasn't even had a chance to react when I am pressing him against the door with the point of my hunting knife pressed into his neck.

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” I say in a reasonable tone though my pulse is pounding in my neck and my mouth is dry as a bone. 

He says nothing, for one long moment he gazes into my eyes as if he trying to figure out whether I am serious or not, I raise my eyebrows in challenge. He swallows hard and steps away from the door. “Get the fuck out of my way.” I shove him hard, just to be sure. 

As soon as I am out the door I am overtaken by the wails of a woman in the distance. Smoke makes it hard to decipher where one body ends and another begins. I shut my eyes for a moment to clear my head. “Where is she?” I think to myself, and of course, I know. She's right in the thick of it, administering help where she can. I step off the walkway and almost immediately someone is shoved into me. I shove them away, ignoring the shooting pain in my leg.

I push my way through the throng of people. Peacekeepers are shouting orders, pressing on the crowd with their guns, I spot Darius, kneeling down in front of a woman, handing her a cloth as blood runs down her face, her dark hair matted with blood. I swallow the bile gathering at the back of my mouth, forcing myself across the blood slicked cobblestone. 

I find a group of miners near the front of the justice building, one of them, Thom, I recognize, he works the same crew as Gale. He shouts orders to get the wounded to the hob, I suspect in the coming hours my mother will be a very busy woman. 

“Thom!” I shout, waving my arms to catch his attention. He spots me and waves me through the men. 

“Katniss.” he says when I am close enough to hear over the shouting.

“Have you seen Primrose?” I ask and to my relief he nods.

“She was here a few moments ago.”

My stomach drops again. “Where did she go?” I demand, desperation creeping into my voice. When he shakes his head and says he doesn't know I fight the prick of tears behind my eyes. “What about Peeta?” I ask.

“The bakers kid?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn't tell ya.” 

I don't wait for him to finish speaking, I am already moving away from him when he says he's sorry. 

“Prim!” I shout her name, my cries being drown out by others. The smell of blood is overwhelming and I begin to cough, my stomach flipping. Then I spot her braid, the relief is instantaneous. I can already feel my muscles relax and I push through the last bits of people on the outskirts of the hysteria in the square. Then I see who she is with and my stomach clinches up again.

Cray has his hand against the wall next to her, blocking her path. His other hand is stroking her cheek. I can feel her fear from here, I can taste it. I grip the handle of my knife tighter, just realizing that I still have it in my hand. Time goes sluggish, everything slowing down as I focus in on my sister and the frightened look that hazes her eyes, the way her bottom lip trembles as he leans into her ear to speak. 

I can tell by the sound of loose gravel that I am running, my feet pounding as I pick up speed. I can't hear anything else, the entire world around me goes quiet. I focus my entire being on the tiny pulse point I can see throbbing in Cray's neck. The place where I can see his wretched, black heart thrum.

Something slams into me, knocking me from my feet, grabbing me around the middle.

“I knew it was too much to ask you to stay where you were.” Peeta hisses in my ear. I reach up to push him off me but he catches my wrist in his hand. “Put that knife away.” he snaps.

The blade glints silver in the moonlight and catches the eye of a young man about my age to the right of me. I throw my shoulder into Peeta as he releases me.

“Quit bossing me around.” I snarl, trying to push him out of my way.

“If I promise to take care of this, will you go back to the bakery and stay put?” he asks and I feel my chin jut out stubbornly. 

“Didn't think so.” he mutters quietly to himself before turning towards Cray and my sister, where they still stand, unaware of our presence to their right. “Stay here.” he orders as he begins to almost jaunt up to them. I take a few more steps before hiding myself behind an overturned crate, stepping over its contents and peeking over the top of it.

Peeta slips under Cray's arm and pops up between the two of them. He speaks in a frantic tone, his arms gesturing wildly around him. Cray narrows his eyes and looks around suspiciously, I duck down for a moment, when I peek back up Cray has his full attention on Peeta, speaking almost directly into his ear. I can feel Peeta stiffen from where I am crouched, though I can't hear what is being said, I can see Peeta flex his fingers and my sisters hand jut out and grab his wrist, bringing him back to reality. 

He says snaps something back to Cray and Cray laughs, slapping Peeta on the back and gesturing for them to leave, his arm sweeping out around them, but as soon as Peeta turns his back I see Cray stare at him, a blank, black look in his eye. 

Peeta pushes my sister in front of him, blocking her from Cray, and I can see the relief on her face as they pass me, Peeta doesn't slow, just grabs my wrist and pulls me along with him not stopping until we reach the bakery. 

As soon as the door shuts my sister slams into me, her hair tickling my nose and her arms wrap like a vice around my waist.

“I'm so sorry.” she mumbles into my shoulder, I can feel her warm tears trickling down my neck. 

“Shut up.” I state thickly, a tear tracing its way down my cheek.

“I'm so stupid, I didn't mean what I said, I don't hate you.” She manages to hiccup out between sobs. “I was so scared you were hurt.” 

“I'm not, okay, look.” I push her away and wipe her cheeks with my sleeve. “See, I'm okay!” I try to brighten my face with a smile, but there is snot running out of my nose. “You are too.” I whisper fiercely “You're okay.” I pat her down just to be sure. 

Then I turn to Peeta, who seems to be having a silent argument with his brother, their eyes locked together as they stare stonily at each other, Rye has a small scratch on his throat, just above his adams apple. I feel guilt flood my stomach immediately. He just gives me a pointed look when he sees me staring at it.

“Did you see Mother out there?” Prim asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

I shake my head and Peeta looks at me as if remembering I am here.

“Are you two okay?” he asks, moving to stand next to me, running his fingers down my arm. I feel a chill go through me as I take in a long, shaky breath.

“I think so.” I say.

Truth is, I don't think I am okay at all. This is my first taste of rebellion, of what it really is and what it means. It means death and destruction for this district, we will all die in a fire we started. Prim is watching me carefully, her face smeared with coal dust, her braid unraveling, chunks of her hair falling into her face. She has blood and dust staining her hands, but her eyes are still miraculously blue and expressive. Her eyebrows are knitted together making her look years older than fifteen.

How old do I look?

“Katniss?” she whispers my name as her hand inches out toward me. I only now realize I'm crying.

“All those people.” I say, my voice cracking. How many people are dead, their bodies laying where they dropped in the square. Dying for a cause that will be snuffed out before it has a chance to live, the Capitol will see to that. All those people, dead.

For what?

 

Prim is reaching for me in earnest now, I am afraid if she touches me I will crumble completely so I step away from her, clearing my throat loudly. Everyone is looking at me, Peeta with sympathy, Rye looks at me as if I am snake, coiled and about to strike. Peeta's father leans against the counter, an expression I can't read on his face. Peeta's mother is leaned against the door that leads to the kitchen, looking at me like I might drag Peeta out by his hair and eat him for lunch. 

“We should go.” I say, fidgiting nervously, my eyes falling to the floor. “Mother will need help.”

“Katniss, you can't go out there.” Peeta says

I turn to look out the window, the fighting has calmed down quite a bit. A line of men sit against the wall across from the bakery, their arms bound behind their backs. They all wear the same expression of weariness with something boiling underneath it. Anger.

Peacekeepers are lining up bodies to one side, dragging them by their feet. People are darting this way and that, the crowd beginning to disperse as the Peacekeepers gain ground, their guns looming in peoples faces. Someone has thrown something through the grocers window, shattered glass glittering in the moonlight. 

“Stay here till things calm down a little more, Breslin will want you safe.” I would have argued further if Prim wasn't with me. She is one of the few people in my life I can't risk her. I nod all of the fight going out of me. 

I swear I hear Peeta's mother snort as she turns back into the kitchen. I let out a soft sigh as Peeta runs his fingers through my hair. 

“Come on, ladies.” he nods toward the stairs that lead to his families small apartment. He leads us up the narrow stairwell and into his small living room. Its smaller than our home in the seam, if thats possible. A couch lines the wall across from a small wood burning stove. He leads us down a hall where a door sits propped open. I let out a small gasp when I see the walls, covered in paper, Peetas drawings are everywhere. I let out a small contented sigh at it, I can't help it, because everywhere I look there are trees. Pines that stand straight in the distance, Oaks that twist up toward the sky, their branches bowed and crooked, and willows that hang forlorn, their forms weeping in the wind. 

A bunk bed lines one wall and a dresser sits on the other side of the room, a bookshelf is near the door, lined with leather bound books, their spines bent and covers worn. 

“I like your room.” Prim pipes up, her voice bright. I reach out and touch a paper on the wall, its edges are frayed and its been yellowed with time. 

“Thank you Prim.” Peeta says with a smile and a wink, I turn to see him watching me, his body taking up so much space in the small room. Prim looks around in awe.

“Did you draw all this?” she asks, her eyes dancing around the room. 

“I did.” he says with a sheepish smile. “I think Rye has grown sick of them.” 

“I can't imagine that.” she says, sitting on the bottom bed and tucking her legs underneath her.

With her sitting on the bed I can actually step into the room, but the moment I do I let out a cry of pain, putting weight on my ankle. I almost fall but Peeta catches me with one arm. The adrenaline I felt when out in the crowd has drained from my body, leaving me tired and sore.

Peeta helps me to the bed next to Prim and she begins to examine me. She pulls my boot and sock off and demands I stay quiet. Her fingers are cold against my skin as probes the bones in my ankle. She hits a painful spot and I recoil from her.

“Geezum Prim!” I shout as I wince.

“Sorry.” she mutters, not looking sorry at all.

“I don't think its broken.” she says, “Though its hard to tell, it is swelling pretty bad.”

“Prim, why don't you go downstairs and ask my father for some ice?” Peeta says in an flat tone, his eyes not leaving me.

My sister nods, setting my foot down on the bed and demanding I lay down. I lean back against the pillow, when she is satisfied I won't move she turns and leaves the room silently. 

Peeta comes over and sits at the edge of the bed.

“What did Cray say to you?” I ask, not daring to ask when my sister is around. Peeta lets out a long sigh and stands, moving to look out the window that looks over the square. He is quiet a long time, his eyes glassy and far away.

“Does it matter, Katniss?” his voice sounds weary.

“It matters to me.” I say stubbornly, an edge creeping into my voice.

He lets out a soft sigh and turns back to me, I stick my hands into my pockets and almost immediately my fingers find something metal, curling around the cool surface of the cufflink I had stolen. I had forgotten that it was in my pocket. I flip it through my fingers and find Peeta looking at me.

“He told me,” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip. “He told me.” he starts over, his eyes suddenly can't find a place to land. “He told me you taste like strawberries.” 

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. 

Peeta walks over and sits on the bed again, I lift myself up as he winds his arm around my shoulder. My nose finds his collarbone, and buries itself there. 

He strokes my hair and looks at a spot in the wall. 

His curls are unruly as ever, falling into his eyes. A streak of dirt smudged on his nose. He presses his lips into my hair, stroking my arm in a comforting manner. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“How people are so willing to sacrifice people they love when they are desperate.” he says after a beat of silence. “How horrible that is.” 

His eyes are soft in the artificial light in his room, I'd rather be looking at him in the candlelight where the flickering shadows make his eyes shine like stars. I think he just might be the loveliest thing in the entire district. 

Peeta chuckles softly “I think you need to have your eyes checked.” Only when he says that do I realize I said that last part out loud.

“Maybe you should have yours checked.” I shrug and this makes him laugh in earnest, he reaches down and tilts my face toward his leaning toward me. 

Prim clears her throat loudly, a smug smirk on her face, holding a kitchen towel filled with ice. 

“Hello Primrose,” Peeta smiles “Its good to see that your timing has improved.” Peeta quips and moves so my sister can sit. I immediately miss his warmth, feeling cold in the unfamiliar bed. 

I wince when my sister presses the cold cloth to my ankle, air hissing from between my lips.

“You should try to sleep.” she says, pushing the hair out of my eyes. 

I try to shut my eyes but when I do all I see is the red staining the square. 

“I don't think I'll be able to.” I say softly, hoping Peeta can't hear the way my voice quivers. “My ankle aches something awful.” I try to lie, though I feel neither Prim nor Peeta really believes it. Peeta rummages through his drawer and finds a fever pill that helps with inflammation, and I swallow it without any water. 

He sets Prim up on the couch with blankets and pillows to rest for a few hours before we head home. I don't want her to leave but she teases that she will get better sleep out there without me snoring in her ear and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“I wonder what your mom thinks of me being up here?” I muse softly after my sister leaves.

“I'm sure she's giving my father an earful about it.” Peeta jokes, sitting on the edge of the bed careful not to disturb my leg that Prim propped up with a pillow. “I don't want dark haired grandchildren.” he imitates her voice, comically high pitched and despite myself I find myself giggling. 

“She hates me.” I say softly as my laughter dies out.

“Join the club.” he quips and I furrow my brows.

“You're her son.” I whisper “She must love you.” 

He chuckles but it sounds dark. “I'm a mistake and she won't let me forget it.”

“I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't love you.” I bite out and he smiles though it doesn't reach his eyes.

“You should try to sleep.” he says, settling in next to me. 

“I don't think I could if I tried.” I say, laying my head on his chest.

He runs his fingers down my arm, making me shiver, his fingertips tracing a design in the skin between the freckles that spatter my dusky skin. I feel myself being pulled closer to him as if he has a string attached to me and he pulls on it, me helpless to stop it. I press my lips to his, softly at first but when I feel a familiar heat drag itself through my stomach I deepen the kiss. 

I ignore the throbbing in my leg and pull at his shirt, forcing him closer to me. He runs his tongue over my bottom lip eliciting a soft moan from me. I slip my hands underneath his shirt, running my fingers over the warm skin of his stomach. 

He lifts himself up, breaking our kiss to look down at me for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. His swollen lips part for a moment but then it seems he thinks better of speaking and he leans down, his hair tickling my forehead when his lips find mine. 

I think he may have been made for me. The thought rips through me as he kisses my neck. I shut my eyes as my breathing hitches. Our first time was tainted with desperation and loss. He had been holding me to him with everything he had, trying to keep me from leaving. I hadn't had a chance to think about what we we're actually doing. 

I do now. 

His fingers slip under my shirt and skim my side sending a shiver through me. He mumbles something into my shoulder and nips gently at the skin there. 

It brings me from one time to another, and in an instant it isn't Peeta hovering above me with his weight pressed into me, it's Cray.

I shove at him with everything I have, my eyes flying open. My palms press into his chest and push. My chest is tightening with every breath I take and I can feel my head go foggy. “No.” I whisper. 

His weight is removed in as I struggle to catch my breath.

“I'm sorry.” Peeta says, his face flashing with regret. 

“No, its alright.” I say, my chest still heaving. “I just-” my words catch in my throat and to my horror I discover I am crying.

“You don't have to explain.” he says, not moving to touch me. I can feel my bottom lip tremble as I take in deep lungfuls of empty air that do little to quell the hysteria I feel.

“Its been a long day.” Peeta says, “Lets just get some rest.” He lays down, still refusing to touch me. I nod and lay my head on his shoulder, my cheek pressed into his shirt, wetting it with tears. We are quiet a long time, the only noise in the room is our breath. I try to shut my eyes but all I see is Atherton laying at the ground, the vacant look in his eyes as they stared unseeing at the cloudless sky, the stars shining above him like pinholes in velvet.

Peeta carefully touches my cheek, running his thumb down my still damp cheek. 

“Tell me a story.” Peeta says quietly.

I furrow my brow “What?”

“Tell me something happy.” he says softly.

I rack my brain for something to tell him. I relay a story of my father taking me to the lake and me turning somersaults in the water. Soon, I am filled with longing for the lake, and more importantly, I am feeling a hollow warmth in my chest thinking about my father. 

I can hear distant arguing from beyond the closed door, Peeta's mothers yelling is muffled and I can't make out what she is saying, but I think I hear the word whore. Yes, we were made for each other.

And as I feel sleep tug on my eyelids, I am suddenly terrified that this rebellion will rip apart this district, surely it will, I don't know who or what will be left standing when the smoke clears. What if he is taken from me? I will be left colder than before, knowing his warmth now, I don't think I'd survive it. 

I dropped my guard and he crawled inside when I hadn't wanted him here. Now I am helpless to him, as weak as my mother. 

If he is gone I wouldn't be able to go on with out him. 

It brings a sobering thought, turning over and over in my mind.

I can't save him from what may or may not be coming. It will come, bringing the wolves that have circled me for so long.

And I can't save him, the boy with the bread, who was so quick to throw his lot in with mine entirely. If it isn't the rebellion, it'll be Cray, who wishes to possess me in whatever ways he can. He could have Peeta arrested or killed, for whatever reason he finds suitable, because Peeta holds onto something Cray could never have, my heart. And despite that fear I can't seem to stay away from the boy, like a planet that orbits the sun, I need his warmth to survive. 

And in this moment I hate him for it.


	19. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I run next to the fence I stop short. I cock my head to the side and listen, there is no hum, no electricity. I reach my fingers out carefully, pausing for a moment before I clamp them down on the wire. I let out a breath.
> 
> The fence is off.
> 
> Before I can formulate any thoughts in my brain I am wriggling my slight body underneath it. Once I am on the other side I gaze up at the sky, smiling like an idiot. Its like a weight has been lifted from my chest and I take in deep lungfuls of sweet, spring air. I laugh to myself before running through the knee high grass, I don't stop until I find my bow where I left it in a hollow log.
> 
> In record time I am at the lake, stripping off my clothing and leaping into the cool water. I turn somersaults like I did when I was a child, for a moment I think my father will be there when I pop of for breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely readers!   
> I'm looking for someone to help me out with a banner which is beyond my artistic capabilities, if you know of someone or you are intrested please let me know.  
> Thank you guys.  
> -J

I awake to soft light pouring through the window. Peeta is gone, the bed cold. I wriggle my toes and wince as I sit up. My ankle, which I've been avoiding looking at, is stained black and blue and twice its size. 

I stand slowly and limp to the window, pushing the fabric of the billowy curtain out of my way. Its barely dawn, I must have slept for only a few hours. The sky is periwinkle, a beautiful color that paints everything a pretty blue-purple. I don't really see it though, I am staring down at the square. Peacekeepers are still mopping up the blood that I fear will stain the ground, a reminder of the carnage. The bodies that they lined against the wall are still there only wrapped tightly in white sheets. 

Cray stands on his porch, surveying the small crew of peacekeepers that work on cleaning up the mess. I let the curtain fall and turn around, not wanting to see the sight for one more second. 

The house is eerily quiet, though I can hear soft talking downstairs. Prim is fast asleep on the couch, her hair wild around her dirty face. I lean down and press a kiss into her forehead but other than that I let her sleep, let her forget for a little longer where she lives and who she is. 

I limp down the stairs, trying not to put too much weight on my bad ankle but as I reach the bottom I can't stop the whimper that comes out of my throat.

“You shouldn't be walking on that.” Peeta's father says, standing in the kitchen with a mug of tea. 

“Where is everyone?” I ask as he moves to help me to the table.

“Peeta is out back.” he says setting a mug of tea in front of me. “The other two are out running errands and Margret is in the office, checking the books.” he winks at me. “That leaves just the two of us.” 

“Are you hungry?” he asks and I nod. I watch as he putters around the kitchen, cutting bread from a loaf that sits on the counter. He comes back with a cheese sandwich and a few apple slices on a plate. 

“Thank you, Mr. Mellark.” I say in a timid voice, taking the plate awkwardly. 

“Please, Miss Everdeen, call me Graham, I think we are past the formality.” 

“Call me Katniss.” I say softly in response as he pushes the plate toward me in silent insistence that I eat. I take a meager bite, chewing thoughtfully. The bread is stale but the cheese is sharp, tangy cheddar, I smile appreciatively.

We sit in silence for a long time, him sipping his tea and me chewing quietly. When my plate has been cleaned I clear my throat.

“Peeta tells me that you knew my mother.” I say awkwardly, wanting to fill the silence between us. He seems surprised by what I just said, he sets his mug down and cocks his head to the side. I want to laugh and tell him Peeta makes that exact face when he is confused, but I have a feeling he already knows that.

“I did.” he says simply.

“She never mentioned knowing you.” I say and immediately bite my lip, cursing how rude I just was.

If he thinks its rude he doesn't show it, he only chuckles softly, running his hand over the bald spot on his head.

“It was a lot of years ago, I didn't think she would.” he says taking a long drink of his tea.

“Did you love her?” I blurt.

He seems far away in thought, his pale eyes squinting as if he trying to see something far away. “I did.” he says quietly, as if he is afraid that witch of a wife of his is listening. “I suspect I always will.” 

“That's sad.” I say.

He laughs to himself, looking at his hands, the way they are textured with scars and burn marks. “Perhaps.” he says softly. “But your mother has you and your sweet, little sister. I've got my boys, I think things worked out for the better.”

“Did you know my father?” I ask him.

“He traded at the bakery quite a bit.” he says “He was a good man, and was good to Breslin and you girls, you should be thankful.” 

“He was.” I say lamely, sipping my tea. 

“Go find Peeta, tell him he has a half hour till we open.” He gathers my plate and shoos me out the door before I can offer to help him clean up. 

Peeta is leaning against the old, gnarled apple tree, his eyes fixed on a book in his lap. I stand watching him for a moment at the foot of the old porch steps. His hair is falling into his eyes and for a moment all I can do is lean against the rickety railing and watch him. 

He catches me watching him, his eyes flicker up at me and I blush, looking down at my feet. “Sorry, I couldn't sleep.” he says tucking his book to the side. 

“S'okay.” I say.

“Did you eat?” he asks and I nod. 

“Good, Good.” he lets his words trail off and a weird silence falls between us, as if neither of us is sure what to say or do. 

“I should be getting Prim home, my mother is probably freaking out.” 

“I walk you.” he says with a wink.

“Oh, no, you don't have to, I'm sure you have work that you need to do.” 

“Nonsense, the place will run just fine without me.” 

I don't know what else to say, so I just squeak out a “I guess.” I turn a little too fast and yelp when my ankle protests. 

“After all,” he adds with a smile “You might need someone to carry you, huh Fox?” 

“Fuck you.” I mutter though I am smiling.

I have to rouse Prim twice before she actually stands, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Come on, Prim.”

“I'm tired.” she whines but she eats the sandwich and apple that Graham gives her without much complaining. I sit with her while she eats and Peeta starts his prep work for the day at the table, plopping cookie dough on a greased baking sheet.

Peeta's mother comes in and stares at us as Prim laughs at a joke Peeta is telling. She is in a lilac colored dress that could feed us for a month, her high heeled shoes click against the hardwood floor, announcing her presence before she arrives. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the door frame, her blue eyes narrowing in my direction.

“What are these little hoodrats still doing here?” she asks, her lips curling in distaste.

“Morning Mother.” Peeta says cheerfully. “Good to see you're in a favorable mood today.” 

“Peeta, don't be patronizing, it isn't very becoming.” she snaps, running her tongue over her teeth.

“I learned from the best.” Peeta quips and his mother snorts, turning on her heel. 

“I want them out by lunch.” she huffs before storming out of the room.

“I think I ruined her day.” I say.

“Try ruining her life.” Peeta scoffs, but when I look up at him he smiles at me. 

“Come on, lets get you home.” Peeta says, lifting me out of my chair by the arm and insisting that I lean on him while we walk, I protest but Prim pipes up that I need to keep as much weight off of it as possible.

“I could still carry you, Katniss.” Peeta jokes and I glare at him, my scowl deepening. 

“I might be kidding.” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“I might punch you.” I quip

“Fair enough.” 

I gather my things and we head toward the seam, taking the back way on my insistence. It takes longer but we see less people, avoiding the square and the bloodstains. Its slow going, I have to stop and rest often, but if Peeta is annoyed he doesn't say anything, just lets me lean against a rock or a tree and catch my breath in quiet, which I couldn't be more grateful for.

Its oddly quiet for a weekday morning, there isn't anyone out on the roads. A dog barks in someone's yard but no one comes to quiet him. People have their drapes and shutters pulled shut, doors are surely locked. I see a few people peek out of their doors at us, but shut them quietly when they see we aren't anyone of any importance. 

When we finally reach my house almost an hour later, I see something taped to our door. Peeta pulls the envelope off and hands it to me. It has my mothers name written in a ladies hand, her name scrawled somewhat lazily.

Peeta opens the door.

Its chaos.

Men are everywhere, on the couch, the kitchen table, the floor. Prim rushes past me to my mother where she is sleeping in a chair, her head resting on the kitchen counter.

“Mama!” she cries, wrapping her arm around my mother. My mother is standing in an instant.

“Where have you two been!” she shouts, I want to answer but all I smell is the coppery smell of blood, I press my hand to my mouth and lean heavily against Peeta, who rubs my back soothingly. “I've been so worried!” She hugs Prim and looks at me from across the room. 

“You got this letter.” I say holding out the envelope, she crosses the room and takes it gingerly. Pulling out a clean, white parchment. She reads it, her eyebrows furrowing together, then she pulls out a twenty note and I gasp, I haven't ever seen that much money in my whole life. 

“What is that?” I ask, my mother ignores me, pressing the letter to her chest.

“Its from Lily Undersee.” she says, her eyes far away. “For the men, for medicine.” She regards me leaning against Peeta and she chews on her lip. 

“Are you alright?” she asks me and I nod, looking around at the men that are resting all over the house. One man has been shot through his shoulder, his arm put up in a sling. Another man has his head swathed in clean, white bandages, blood is just beginning to seep through it, I can't stop looking at it.

“Her ankle might be broken.” Peeta says, to my dismay he scoops me up and walks me into the kitchen. My mother lifts my pant leg gently, her face taking on a look of grim determination that I only see when she is assessing a patient. She winces a little when she sees the tight skin on my ankle.

“Katniss, you know better than to go around walking on something like this.” she scolds as she probes my ankle.

“Ouch! Fuck!” I snap at her.

“Watch that mouth, young lady.” 

I grit my teeth and she pulls on my foot and I hear a loud pop echo through the room. “Well, looks like you won't be out and about for at least two weeks.” my mother says with authority. I fight my urge to tell her that I will do exactly as I please. “Peeta will you take her to her room?” she asks and Peeta turns without a word, carrying me to my bed.

When the door is shut behind us he sets me down gently on the ground. “Do you have some more comfortable clothes?” he asks as I sit on the bed. “In the dresser there, top drawer.” I feel awkward as he rummages through my clothing, pulling out a ratty pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt that belonged to my father. He hands them to me and I ball them up against my stomach. 

Silence hangs between us for a few moments before I clear my throat. “Um, do you mind?” I ask gesturing at him.

“Right.” he says with a slight chuckle, turning around slowly and facing the wall. Only when I am satisfied that he is looking the other way do I strip off my clothing as quickly as I can, pulling the sweats up my hips in record time. 

“You can turn around.” I say after I pull the shirt over my head. Peeta walks toward the bed and gestures for me to sit next to him. I do, and he reaches out, running his fingers through the braid I hastily pulled my tangled hair into this morning. He pulls the band from my hair and runs his fingers through my hair, pulling the tangles free, his fingertips running over my scalp.

I inch my way backward until my head rests on my pillow. Peeta pulls the blanket back and waits for me to tuck my feet down into my bed before pulling it around my shoulders. “I'm so tired.” I complain, plaintive and hollow sounding.

“I know, Fox.” Peeta says 

“What do you think is going to happen?” I ask

“I don't know.” he says honestly. “I suspect that the coming months will be hard on all of us.”

“All of those people.” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “ Is this my fault?” I know its a silly question, but guilt has been building in me slowly since I saw the first man fall in the crowd. I have had my own part in this, the rebellion, and I played my part well, and now I want to take my bow and leave the stage and it is too late. 

“Katniss, if you want someone to tell you your guilty, I'm not your man.” I nod mutely, pressing my face into the pillow. 

“I just want this to be over.” I say quietly.

“Get some rest.” He says, his voice appeasing. I shut my eyes, knowing the nightmares will be bad, I want Peeta to stay, to hold me through the worst of it, but I know it isn't possible, he has a life beyond me.

“Will you stay with me till I fall asleep?” I ask, grabbing his hand and holding onto it as if my life depends on it.

“Always.” he says with a quiet chuckle, his grip tightening on my hand.

KPKPKKPKPKP

Wolves circle me, their yellow eyes watching me as I turn slowly, regarding each one with barely concealed contempt. The largest one has fur the color of a midnight sky, his muzzle drenched with gray. He lets out a howl, long and forlorn, an unsettling sound in the quiet. I reach for my quiver of arrows and pull out the first one I touch. I nock my arrow, pulling my bowstring taut. The dark one growls, a low noise I can barely hear over the pulsing of my heart. I swear it sounds like a laugh.

I hold my ground as they inch closer to me. Their paws not making a noise as they pad through the snow. I can see my breath against the gray sky, puffs coming quick and heavy. My hands shake and I fear my arrow won't find its mark and I am not in the business of missing my mark.

The leader howls again and they all turn to look at me, all of them wearing the same expression of empty hate. There is a beat of silence and they lurch forward, teeth dripping. I panic and release my arrow, it buries into the black ones chest. I find myself smiling triumphantly, but it falls from my face when I realize that it wasn't a wolf at all. Peeta lies in the snow, the arrow lodged into his chest, blood leaking from his mouth and dripping into the snow. 

“Peeta?” I whisper out feeling tears sting the back of my eyes. 

He just stares up at the sky.

Its the last thing I see before the bodies of the wolves slam into me, overtaking me, teeth locking on my throat.

I gasp awake, the sky is dark and my room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock. I take in large heaving breaths. I look around desperately, my neck craning as I whip my head back and forth. I'd give anything for his arms to lock around me and his words in my ear, telling me it will be alright but Its useless, Peeta isn't here.

KPKPKKPKPKPKP

Its three weeks before my mother allows me out of the house, the first few days I was so tired I let her and Prim mother me to death while I lay in bed, only sleeping and eating, greatful that I don't have to go out into the living room and see those men, lying in filth and blood while my sister and mother rush around, administering what little help they can. 

Peeta visits in the evenings after his shifts at the bakery and he reads to me, or simply draws while I watch. We say little to each other, once the men are gone he sometimes carries me to the living room and switches on the television, though we don't really watch it, it just gives us an excuse to sit in quiet while he feeds me bits of cheese buns until I fall asleep with my head on his lap.

I ask him about town but he evades my questioning with ease, often giving me a chaste kiss and telling me to quit interrupting him while he is trying to draw. 

I find out though, on a friday I am determined to go into town. I lace my boots tight because my ankle still hurts. I sling my empty game bag over my shoulder and take the trek to town slowly. When I get to town I stop short, dropping my bag to the ground. A whipping post stands shiny and new in the middle of the square for all to see, stocks to the right of it. People are darting this way and that, avoiding looking at the large pole that demands my attention. I grab my bag and run back toward the seam, wishing I never decided to go to town. My ankle throbs but I ignore it as I run through the meadow.

As I run next to the fence I stop short. I cock my head to the side and listen, there is no hum, no electricity. I reach my fingers out carefully, pausing for a moment before I clamp them down on the wire. I let out a breath.

The fence is off.

Before I can formulate any thoughts in my brain I am wriggling my slight body underneath it. Once I am on the other side I gaze up at the sky, smiling like an idiot. Its like a weight has been lifted from my chest and I take in deep lungfuls of sweet, spring air. I laugh to myself before running through the knee high grass, I don't stop until I find my bow where I left it in a hollow log.

In record time I am at the lake, stripping off my clothing and leaping into the cool water. I turn somersaults like I did when I was a child, for a moment I think my father will be there when I pop of for breath. 

I gather Katniss tubers and mint and strawberries, I shoot some squirrels, I even manage a couple of ducks. Its almost dark when I turn back toward home, my game bag heavy, my ankle sore, but happier than I have been in months, maybe years. My cheeks hurt from smiling. 

The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness.

Because then, I was happy to be saved.

I never thought to ask why.


	20. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm sorry Katniss.” She says, her voice breaking the silence. “I'm so sorry.” her face contorts as a tear makes its way down her pallid skin.
> 
> “What do you have to be sorry for.” I mutter, my voice husky, sounding like I've swallowed gravel. 
> 
> “So much.” She says, her bottom lip trembling.
> 
> “Not any more than anyone else.” I say because her voice has broken something in me. 
> 
> “Still,” she says quietly, her eyes refusing to meet mine. “Someone should say it.”

I bypass my home, running right passed the flickering candlelight and warmth, sticking close to buildings and shadows until I am at the back door of the bakery, knocking insistently until Rye answers the door. The family is sitting down to dinner in the kitchen. Rye doesn't say anything to me, just lets out a long sigh and opens the door wider so Peeta can see me standing there, out of breath and flush with excitement. Peeta stands slowly and somewhat awkwardly, passing his brother and shutting the door behind him quietly.

“Katniss?” he says questioningly, his eyebrows furrowing together. I can't help the smile that breaks across my face. It seems infectious because Peeta smiles crookedly. “What are you doing here?” 

“Feel like a trade?” I ask, pulling a squirrel from my bag. Immediately I sense the change in Peeta. 

“The fence is off?” he says and I feel the smile slip from my face as my eyes slowly slide up to his. 

“Um,” I falter, tightening my grip on the squirrels tail. “Yeah.” There is a tightness in my stomach that wasn't there a moment ago. 

“Just after a riot?” Peeta has his lips pressed in a clinched line. 

“Yeah.” I say, my voice hollow and far away sounding like someone else entirely.

He is quiet for a few moments, taking the squirrel from me and weighing it in his hand. “That doesn't make any sense.” he whispers.

I had been so happy, so excited at the prospect of freedom, I hadn't thought about why the fence is off. For a moment Crays face swims across my vision, eyes boring into Peeta's back, black and vacuous. I look at my shoes for a moment, my heart stuttering in my chest. I look back up at Peeta and his blue eyes are fixed on me worry making them glassy. When my eyes meet his he pastes a smile on his face.

“The squirrel is good.” he says conversationally, “Worth at least two loaves of bread.” 

I snort “You have a lot to learn about trading, Mellark.” 

“You better teach me then.” he says, leaning forward and sneaking a light kiss. “Would you like to come in?” he asks. I shake my head mutely and he disappears into the warm light.

As soon as the door shuts behind him I let out a long, shaky breath. What was I thinking? The answer to that is I wasn't. It took the mere idea of freedom and I was crawling beneath the fence with no thought to anything else. Now, back in the district and the confines of the fence I can feel my stomach turning. What does this mean?

 

Peeta returns with two loaves of sourdough. “Its too much.” I immediately spit, feeling suddenly cross with him. He sighs, running his fingers through his curls.

“I thought we were past this, Fox.” I snatch one loaf from his hand and leave the other, Ignoring him and turning on my heel, my spine rigid.

“Katniss!” he shouts after me. I turn and glare at him.

“I missed that look.” he says, a sarcastic edge to his voice. “I'll see you tomorrow?” he asks, his voice suddenly insecure. My face is still tinged with hardness but I nod and I see him soften slightly. 

I turn around and am facing away when he says it, so soft I can barely hear it. “I love you.” its quiet, but it still knocks the breath out of my chest. I don't dare move or breathe, even after he has shut the door behind him. In the dying light of spring I feel my chest seizing beneath the heaviness of his words, because its real.

I've known he loves me for some time. I've known I love him for some time. Yet his declaration has just made it real in my mind. I recoil at the thought, years and layers of protection won't let anything but dread flood my mind. I lick my lips and force my feet to move.

The Hob is eerily quiet, Only a few vendors are set up, Greasy Sae and Ripper included. A few miners meander around, their eyes darting around warily. I pick up a ball of twine from one of the stalls and examine it, just to give myself something to do.

A group of Peacekeepers stands at attention near the doorway, their pristine, white uniforms glow in the dying light, staring me right in the face. I don't recognize a single one, they stare into a void somewhere above my head with a blank expression on their faces. 

Greasy Sae calls me over and I drop the ball of twine, my whole body starting at the sound of my name through the quiet.

“Haven't seen you in awhile girl.” She says, a bowl of watery soup already ladled out for me. Her eyebrows are raised in question as she pushes the steaming bowl toward me. I sit timidly, the peacekeepers eyes boring into my back. 

“Been laid up.” I say in explanation, sipping my soup and eying Sae carefully. She putters around her stall, an odd energy about her. “Went to the woods today.” I say softly, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

She shoots me a dark look, her eyes suspiciously flickering to the Peacekeepers who are to far away to hear what I've said. “The fence is off?” she whispers, grabbing my hand. My game bag slung around my shoulder suddenly feels heavy. “Yes.” I say, my voice trembling.

She opens her toothless mouth to say something else, but she stills as someone comes in from outside, her mouth snapping shut. I know who it is without having to turn around, I feel his eyes on the back of my head.

“Get out of here, girl.” She hisses and I push the bowl toward her and stand. I pull my bag closer to me as I slowly turn to see Cray watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes. I shift my weight from foot to foot as he cocks his head at me, his lips twitching upwards in a smile.

I have to pass him to get to the door, he knows it. I swallow thickly and this makes his smile widen, seeing my discomfort. I start by taking small steps, not being able to disguise my limp from him. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for me to pass him by.

I find myself cringing as I pass him by, waiting for him to reach out and grab me, when he does, I can't help the small whimper of disgust that comes from somewhere deep within my throat. His hand clamps down on my shoulder and I stop, my feet suddenly glued to their spot. 

“Katniss.” he whispers, his hand snaking up to run his fingers across my face.

“Cray.” I spit, gagging on the word.

“I expect that you'll be on my doorstep tonight, ten sharp.” He says the authority in his voice is thick and palpable though his tone sounds light and airy. I feel something sharp stab up my spine and land somewhere near the base of my skull.

“Yes, sir.” I say in an acidic voice, my eyes skating toward the door, toward freedom. Cray chuckles and his hand slips down my back, fingers roaming the small of my back and landing in the curve there for a moment before grazing my hip with his fingertips, light as air.

I can't catch my breath, though I feel the air around me humming. I feel an odd static going through the air, I swear I can see it shimmering around me as my heart pounds helplessly in my chest. I want to run, or scream, or both but I can't move, I can't see anything, the world swimming around me, the air thick. 

Something crashes to my right and Crays head snaps up at the same time mine does, knocking me out of my anxiety attack. Its Haymitch, yelling something about prices going up to Ripper. He knocks a basket over, its contents spilling in the dirt, he catches my eye and winks subtly as Cray's eyes narrow at him. “Abernathy!” Cray shouts, his voice thick with authority. 

“Cray!” Haymitch yells, his voice slurred as he stumbles toward Cray. 

I take my chance and run, pushing passed the peacekeepers and out into the evening air. I don't stop until I feel my ankle scream in protest. I take empty, heaving breaths and double over, my hands on my knees. 

My eyes squeeze shut as I wheeze, tears slipping down my cheeks. I feel myself falling into the dirt. Whatever small amount of peace that I have accumulated over the passed few weeks is long gone now, leaving only an emptiness spreading through me as fast as a wildfire. 

“Katniss?” A soft voice says and my eyes shoot open, Madge stares at me with wide, blue eyes. 

“Madge?” I squeak, confused to why she's here, when I look around I realize that I stopped in the road in front of her fathers white, two story home. I open my mouth to say something else, but the only thing that comes out is a hollow sob.

She doesn't say anything to me, just opens her arms and envelopes me in a fierce hug. I want to push her away but I don't, not having the energy for such an enormous task. 

“Come on.” she demands and leads me to her porch steps where a mug of tea that has gone cold sits, she must have been already out here when I ran by. 

We sit in silence, me sniffling weakly, her eyes fixed on an empty house across the street. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and it catches in the wind, flying in her face. When I have cried myself out she clears her throat.

“I'm sorry Katniss.” She says, her voice breaking the silence. “I'm so sorry.” her face contorts as a tear makes its way down her pallid skin.

“What do you have to be sorry for.” I mutter, my voice husky, sounding like I've swallowed gravel. 

“So much.” She says, her bottom lip trembling.

“Not any more than anyone else.” I say because her voice has broken something in me. 

“Still,” she says quietly, her eyes refusing to meet mine. “Someone should say it.” 

“I-” she cuts me off from my thought.

“No.” she says firmly. “What's been done to you is wrong.” her voice is impenetrable and hard. A strand of hair falls into her eyes and she sweeps it behind her ear. “and I am sorry.” she says, so quiet that I can barely hear it. 

I don't know what to say so I stay quiet.

“Peeta was right, we're despicable.” she spits. 

“I can't go back to him.” I say softly, rubbing my eye with the palm of my hand.

And then she says it, the thing that I have been thinking but couldn't put into words. “This district has failed you.” 

I reach out and grasp her hand, something I never would have done mere moments ago, but Madge has always hand a quiet strength about her, and I need a little strength. She looks at our intertwined fingers and smiles faintly, gripping my hand tighter. In the dying light of evening we sit, no words passing between us, content with the quiet, just like back at school. Our tears drying on our skin.

Finally I stand, because I can't sit here any longer, Prim is sure to be worried. 

“Here,” I say, offering her the strawberries from my bag. She looks at them as if they couldn't possibly be real.

“The fence is off?” she says quietly, her words prickling against my skin. Was I the only one that didn't realize that something was wrong? She catches my face and her expression softens. “Thank you.” she says quietly. “These are more than I deserve.” 

“They're good.” I say in response. 

“My mother will be happy, they're her favorite.” She says it with a soft smile, not looking up from the strawberries pooled in her hand.

“Tell her thank you.” I say “For the money.” 

“I won't need too, but I expect in the coming months you'll need much more than that.” her eyes are far away, somewhere else entirely. “Whippings can be very expensive.” she shakes her head as if remembering where she is. “Or so my mother remembers.” 

I nod and turn on my heel, feeling drained of all my energy. “Katniss, be careful.” Madge says, a warning edge to her voice. I nod and keep walking. 

When I reach home I throw my bag down on the kitchen table as if its burned me, pulling what is left of my hunting trip on the table frantically. My mother comes in, her eyes widening on the duck that sits on the table. 

“The fence?” she questions

“Yes, the fence is off.” I snap irritably, my patience running thin. “Get rid of it.” I say, and my mother goes to work plucking the feathers almost immediately as Prim rounds the corner. 

“I have to go.” I say, my voice shaking.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Prim's face fall. I don't say anything else, just take small steps toward our room, shutting the door behind me. 

I let out a long shaking breath, letting my head fall. I reach for the first dress I see, hanging off the bed in a tangled mess. Its my blue reaping dress. I strip out of my clothes and slip it on, the fabric soft against my skin. The feeling of it brings back every memory of every reaping I have ever attended. The strangling heat of summer, dust being kicked up by small feet, the feeling of machine guns and camaras being trained on every person at every corner.

Standing here evokes the same feeling of hopelessness. I think of the way I felt when Crays fingers skimmed my back. It makes my skin crawl, freezing me in place, the only thing I can do is breathe. 

I had a small reprieve, with my injured ankle, and Cray busy with the rioting district. I was able to hide here, at home, safe and sound.

I can't hide now. 

I practically crawl to the bathroom and turn the faucet, staring down at the water pooling in the sink. Its almost to the top before I shut it off and dip in hands into it, splashing it against my face and arms. Willing the nausea building in my stomach away before it consumes me whole. I take my time brushing my hair and teeth, braiding my hair down my back. I stand there for a few seconds longer, putting off the inevitable. I take in a few deep breaths before stepping out into the firelight. 

Prim is in the kitchen, helping my mother with my haul, their hands working fast, a pile of feathers on the table. 

“I love you.” I say to no one in particular and both of them shoot their heads up to look at me. I turn away, not wanting to see their sympathy. 

I open the door and take a step back in shock, two peacekeepers waiting in the cool night air. Guns strapped across their chests. I recover quickly, slamming the door behind me as fast as I can.

“Can I help you?” I ask, fighting the shakiness in my voice. One of the peacekeepers smiles at me crookedly, his eyes glint green in the moonlight. The other one, a older man, looks almost bored. 

“Miss Katniss Everdeen?” The younger one says in a Capitol accent, his voice lilting across the quiet of the seam. I nod warily. 

“Can you come with us?” my breath is quickening and I have to wipe the sweat from my palms on my dress. The movement isn't lost on the older man, who quirks his eyebrows. My first instinct is to run, my entire body screams it at me. I can't though, they could easily demand to search my house, force their way inside, and what would they find? My sister and mother cooking a duck poached from Capitol land, a dying offense, they could put a bullet in each of our brains, right here on our porch steps. No one could save us.

I take a step toward them carefully, my hands out in front of me. “What's this all about?” I ask and the younger one opens his mouth to speak. The older one grabs me roughly and pushes me forward impatiently.

“Never mind that.” he snaps, his voice like cold water, I feel my skin prickling. 

I have no choice but to walk, them flanking me. They lead me up towards town, and for a moment I think they are going to lead me toward Crays home but they don't they lead me towards the weeds and dirt behind it where a small clearing sits unused, up the hill a little ways I can see the row of abandoned warehouses where I meet with Haymitch or Gale. If I look to my right, I can see the edge of the square, where the whipping post stands at attention, waiting for its next victim. 

Then I see him standing there, his back to me as he stares where the fence stands bleak and still, free of any electricity. They stop me a few feet away from him and step away from me as if I am poison. I can tell Cray heard us approach, his head tilts to the side, just slightly, but he makes no move to turn around. 

“Thank you gentlemen.” he says, dismissing the two peacekeepers, the younger one looks at me for a moment, his eyes filled with something that I think might be sympathy. The older one snaps something that I can't hear and he turns away from me reluctantly. As I watch their retreating frames I feel dread seeping into me. Whatever Cray has planned, it won't be pretty. 

“Katniss.” He breathes out, his voice just a whisper in the night.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat before I gag on it. His hands are tightly clasped behind his back and I can only wonder at the expression he wears on his face. I don't have to wait long, he turns slowly, wearing a face of amicability, though I recognize the blackness in his eyes. He takes a step toward me, wobbling slightly. Only now I notice that his face is red, and he smells like liquor.

“Do you think I am stupid?” he asks, his words slurred slightly.

“Sir?” I ask, my eyebrows knitting together.

“Do you think I am stupid?” he shouts, his body going rigid. I cringe away from him instinctively. 

“I-I-I'm not sure-” I stammer out, backing away from him as if he's an agitated bear. I can feel my heart dropping into my stomach. 

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asks, and despite the fear that chokes me I have to bite back my a sarcastic yes. 

“I'm not sure what you mean.” I say

“You think I haven't seen you slinking into those wearhouses with the old drunk or that miner?” I swallow hard, my body not feeling like my own. Does he think he's lost his claim on me, that Haymitch and Gale are Johns? Or does he know about the rebellion?

His next words answer my question, as if he is reading my mind.

“You think I didn't notice you pawing through my desk?” he says his voice like venom in my veins. He cracks his knuckles, the noise vibrating through me. 

“Sir.” I try to say in a sensible voice. 

“Shut up!” He howls and I feel my jaw snap shut.

A vein in his neck pulses, his jaw is taut. 

This is it. I think, he's going to kill me, out here in the night. 

What will he do with me? Will he leave me here among the weeds? Or will he bury me in the damp earth, letting the dark soil and worms eat me, leaving me with a fate so much like my fathers? I don't wish to be swallowed by the earth, not ever. I can only wish idly that he will leave my face to look up at the stars. 

Just weeks ago I was prepared to die, all the hollowness in me coming to a head. I had come to peace with it. I had spent so much time feeling nothing, numbness filling me.

What will Prim do? 

And Peeta?

Peeta.

My heart stings in my chest as I think his name, his last words dripping in my mind. “I love you.” so quiet, as if he was scared to say it. These passed few weeks replay in my mind. His fingers tangled in my hair, soft kisses illuminated by candlelight, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he sketched. My dark hair spilled across his lap. The warm, tart taste of baked cheese. The heaviness in my eyes as I drift off to sleep, his voice soft in my ear.

I love you.

I feel something else filling my chest, burning my limbs and igniting in my chest. 

Suddenly, I want to live.

“And the fence.” Cray says, snapping to get my attention. “It was so easy, you stupid cow.” I feel my limbs trembling with something new. 

“Right now, there is a peacekeeper at your mothers door.” He laughs as if he is very clever, I shut my eyes at the thought. Despair flowing through me. My sweet Primrose, so warmhearted and tender, like a flower petal. What will they do to her? I don't have time to think about it though. If its true, there is nothing I can do to help her. 

“They'll kill her.” he says with a wave of his hand. “That pretty little sister of yours.” I feel my chin tremble, but I will myself not to cry, not now.

“You insisted on flaunting yourself around this district, as if I was stupid.” he spits “But, who has the power here, Katniss?” 

I feel my eyes lift from the ground to stare at him, all of the hatred in me boring into him. He might be able to take away my sister, my mother, my home, my woods even my life. He'll never take away this last inch of me, the thing that keeps my chin raised and my hands fisted at my sides,He'll never take away this fire that is burning in my chest.

 

I grit my teeth together and refuse to say it. This angers him further, he stumbles towards me, his tread heavy in the grass. I can smell his breath against my cheek, taste it against my lips. I feel my body stiffen as I meet his eyes. We gaze into each others eyes for what seems like an eternity, in what in reality must be only seconds.

He hits me, hard, his fist slamming against my cheek and I stumble backwards, white light flashing in my vision. He doesn't give me time to catch my bearings, I feel his fist connect with my stomach and I can't help the cry I give as I fall to my knees in the grass. I spit and cough, tasting blood on my lips. That's when he kicks me, over and over. I instinctively curl int a ball, my arms raise, protecting my head. 

I feel tears leaking from my eyes as his boot connects with my body over and over again. Then he falls onto me, pinning my arms down at my sides as I struggle against him, my back arching hopelessly in a hopes of throwing his weight off me. He's heavy, much heavier than I am, and my body is helplessly pinned beneath him. 

I grit my teeth and will myself not to scream, knowing it will only serve to excite him. I let myself lay very still for a moment, gathering all of my strength and taking in deep breaths. I hear a sickening rip and feel the cool air against the bare skin of my chest, he says something and then presses his blubbery, wet lips against my neck. I let out a howl, struggling against him. I get my feet beneath him and shove him with all of my might, every ounce of strength I have left in me. His weight shifts off of me as he curses. I twist away and begin to crawl, my fingers grasping at the dirt beneath me, trying to find purchase. My heels dig into the ground and I begin to crawl, slowly on aching limbs. 

“You fucking whore.” he shouts at me, grabbing at my ankle and I swing around, my hand slapping him across the face.

He seems stunned for a moment, his black eyes turning to slits. “You'll pay for that.” he says, his voice low.

I muster all the saliva in my mouth and spit a wad of blood in his face. He contorts with rage and I take a long, heaving breath as he begins to drag me back underneath him, my chin slamming into the unforgiving earth. Thats when my fingers find the rock, about the size of a coffee mug. I wrap it into my fist as he settles himself on top of me.

“You thought you were invincible, didn't you, you stupid bitch.” Cray whispers in my ear. “I'll teach you, you whore.” I grit my teeth and wait, the heaviness of the rock settling in my arm. “You belong to me.” he says, almost gently.

“Cray.” I whisper, and for a moment our eyes lock. I see in him every look he ever gave me, every time he threatened my sister, every time he hit me, every slithering touch. I think back to that first time, he had said to me in a sensible voice, “This is going to hurt.” I had nodded, in reality, I had no idea. 

“This is going to hurt.” I spit and my arm swings up with every bit of strength I have, slamming the rock into his temple. His head dents, its the only word I can use to describe it. His eyebrows knit together for just a moment before he falls on top of me where I lay, gasping for breath.

Then I am using both my arms and legs to push him off of me. I still grip the rock as if it is my savior, and it is. I look down at his crumpled body, his uniform wrinkled, his face still red. Then I see the soft rise of his chest. I pause only a moment before I raise the rock over my head and slam it into his face, over and over, tears pouring down my face.

I hear an odd noise, primal and feral, somewhere off in the distance. I think to myself that is the worst sound in the world, a howl so full of emptiness and pain. I think that whatever is making that noise is in so much pain the only kind thing would be to put it out of its misery.

Then I realize I am making that noise.

His face looks too peaceful, I slam the rock into his nose once more for good measure before I fall back on my heels, dropping my head into my hands, not being able to stop the gutteral yell coming from somewhere deep within me. The rock slipping from my grasp, blood staining my fingers.

Then I hear the soft shift of grass and I am snatching the rock back up, whirling around to face the next enemy.

Darius stands there, his arms raised, his face shocked. His red hair sticking up in every direction.

“Katniss?” he says and my moan turns into a loud sob. He takes a small step toward me and I feel my arm go up instinctively, the rock poised over my head.

“Its okay.” he takes a sideways step toward me, his arms outstretched as if approaching a wounded animal.

I guess that is what I am.

“Katniss, put down the rock.” he says in a weary voice. “Please.” he adds.

“Darius?” I squeak, dropping the rock. As soon as he hears the soft thud of the rock against the dirt he is running toward me.

“Oh my God,” Darius whispers, touching his fingers to Crays limp form. He seems in a reveree for a moment, as if he is far away, then he snaps into action. I can't do anything but sit here with my arms wrapped around my chest, as if I am trying to keep myself from floating away. 

“Listen to me.” He demands, grabbing my shoulders, I let out a wail, perhaps from pain, my whole body hurts, or perhaps from fear, I suspect its both. He shakes me a little. “Look at me.” He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You need to go home, now.” I start to shake my head, to tell him I don't have a home anymore. “You need to get out of here.” he tries to stand me up on shaking legs but I crumple back to the ground. “Get up!” he demands and I force myself up. My eyes can't stop looking at the dent on Crays temple.

“I will take care of this.” he says, his voice frantic and fast. “But,” I feel my head get foggy as the world spins around me. “Listen.” he drags me back toward him with a snap of his fingers. “Listen to me very carefully, you were never here.” he has to repeat himself three times before I manage a nod.

He lets me go carefully and I stumble a little but stay on my feet. “Get home, now.” he demands, In five minutes this place is going to be crawling with peacekeepers.”

I push my leaden feet forward and cough, spitting blood into my hand. I don't know how much damage Cray did to me, but that can't be good.

I feel cold, so cold.

My teeth chatter, the sound making my head pound. I keep pushing myself forward on shaking legs until I almost reach the square. I see them, dashing around, white uniforms everywhere. I swallow down my fear and turn, ducking down an alley where I only make it a few more steps before I fall, face first into the dirt. I can't get my legs to work, so I crawl. Inch my inch I make my way toward the light at the end of the alleyway, calling to me like a beacon of hope. 

I don't make it very far.

I feel my limbs growing heavier my the second, and my head hurts so much I finally drop myself down, my muscles screaming in relief. I let my braid, which is mostly unraveled, spill into the dirt. I can taste copper in the back of my throat and I try to take a breath through my nose which is clogged with blood. 

I can feel myself get even colder, and I resign myself to shutting my eyes. 

 

This seems as good a place as any to die.

I let myself think of Peeta for a moment, all unruly blonde curls and infectious smiles.

Whats the harm now? I whisper out a last thought.

I love you, too.

My eyes flicker open and for a moment all I see is the wide expanse of the sky, sprayed with stars, and I smile.

KPKPKPKPKPKP

My father lets me lean into his chest and for a moment I breath in his scent of pine and smoke and turpentine. He wraps his arm around me and kisses my hair. His calloused hands are rough on my back. 

“Do you still think of Mom?” I ask and he gets this distant look in his eyes, as if he can see here far off on the horizon. 

“Of course.” he whispers. “She was so lovely, sometimes I think I dreamed her up.”

“Will I still think of him?” I ask, and my father chuckles. 

“I've told you so many times.” he chastises in a way were his voice doesn't sound angry. 

“Look at the light.” I say

He nods “The answers are there.” he says softly.

I want to tell him he's wrong, there are no answers, not anymore. Only pain and fear and hardship. Something tells me that it would be useless, I could argue all I want.

The dead always have the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is!  
> How do you guys feel about Cray being dead?  
> I hope i was able to get it right.
> 
> Anyway, Come say Hi to me on Tumblr  
> http://everafter37.tumblr.com/


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dead man. I think, you're dead wrong.
> 
> The world goes on. Just as brutal and dense today as it was yesterday.
> 
> The world goes on.
> 
> I do not.

There is the pleasant heat of sunshine against my skin, the warmth melting into my bones and making my skin sunkissed. The sky is the deepest blue I've ever seen. I can feel the scratchy grass in my hair and I can't help smiling as I sit up, knowing my hair is a mess, but not caring one single little bit. The valley is alive in the summer heat, cicadas buzzing and I can feel a coolness radiating from a body of water somewhere near by. The trees that dot the landscape are swaying gently in the wind. I am in my white shift dress and a crown of flowers adorn the top of my head, I feel the quiver of arrows heavy on my back and my bow in my hand, I grip it tighter, feeling its power in my otherwise small hand.

“My girl.” Someone to the right of me whispers and I turn, tearing my eyes away from the beauty of the countryside. “You've always been too stubborn for your own good.”

“Daddy.” I say, my voice childlike. 

His arm winds around my shoulder, we both stay very still as if afraid to ruin the moment. He is as tall and strong as I remember him, his shoulders broad, his dark hair falling into his eyes squinted by the sun. I only now notice the blonde boy, running through the grass, his blue eyes dancing in the sunlight. 

“Its perfect here.” I say, words catching in my throat and constricting there, threating to choke me.

“You can't stay.” he says softly, kissing the top of my head. 

I look out at the vast expanse of wilderness that stretches before me with eyes that burn and sting with unshed tears and in my heart I know it was too good to be true. 

“I know.” I whisper, my voice carrying out over the valley.

“Open your eyes, my girl.” He whispers his rough, calloused hand finding mine, locking his fingers with mine. 

“Look at the light.” I whisper.

KPKPKPKPKP

My eyes flutter open and I see him, his curls sticking up in every direction, his hand rough on my face. His blue eyes are just inches from mine, I want to reach up and touch his face, tell him it will all be okay, because I can feel that worried look boring into me, as if he is sure I will die. I take a gasping breath and try to move, my limbs feel like lead and my mouth feels like its been stuffed with wool. I open my mouth to speak.

“Katniss?” I can hear his tears and I want to comfort him but I can't.

I feel myself slipping away with each unsteady breath. 

My eyes slide shut.  
KPKPKKPKPKP

Prim is here, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders and her pale blue dress billows out around her as she spins and spins in the swaying grass, her arms outstretched around her. I can't help but smile at the look of her face, so young and bright in the light. Her feet are bare and she rises on her toes twirling and dancing to a song I can't hear. 

She reaches me and wraps her thin arms around my shoulders pulling me to her. “Come on Katniss!” she shouts happily. “Dance with me!” My arms wrap around her waist and we whirl around until I am dizzy and warm. We fall into the bed of grass, laughing until our stomachs are sore.

Her hair spills out around her, blending into the grass. 

“Do you feel it?” she asks, her voice shattering the summer quiet.

“What?” I ask, staring up the brilliant sky.

“Change.” She says softly, her fingers skimming the skin on my arm.

“I don't want things to change.” I answer back, my voice tight with fear.

“They will,” she says, her head coming to rest on my chest. “Whether you want them to or not.” Her breath is warm against my bare neck.

“That's all revolution is after all.” she whispers it, her voice soft as velvet. “Change.”

KPKPKKPKPKP

It is so cold.

I scrape my fingers against something cloth, I am moving, the wind gentle against my face. 

It is too cold.

Someone is talking frantically but I can't make out what they're saying. My head lolls like a broken flower and I think I hear a fluttering sob against my ribcage, like a bird against a windowpane. I think someone is saying my name. I struggle to open my eyes and when I do, I see him, the line of his jaw above me.

He's carrying me.

“Peeta?” I croak and his eyes find mine.

“Katniss?” his fingers run over my cheek, the pale skin stained copper. “Katniss, stay with me.” I almost say that's silly, where else would I be? 

I want to tell him “Always.” 

But the darkness reaches out with arms to strong for me to fight, they drag me under.  
KPKPKKPKPKP

The water is rough, pounding into the rocks at the riverside, the water almost white with rage. I stand on the edge, perched on a rock, watching with eyes wistful, watching the river pass me by, me stuck here as the water flows toward somewhere I will never see, with hair that billows in the wind, and a simple cotton shift.

I can hear is voice, though I can't be sure where it is coming from. 

“You can't stay here.” My father says and I look up into the dying light of the sky.

Oh dead man. I think, you're dead wrong.

The world goes on. Just as brutal and dense today as it was yesterday.

The world goes on.

I do not.

KPKPKKPKPKP

“We have to get her to her mother.” He says.

“Are you insane? Have you seen it out there?” Someone else says. “Its pandemonium, peacekeepers are everywhere.” 

“We have to get her to her mother.” his voice insists, desperation creeping into his voice.

I take a deep breath into my hollow lungs. 

All I feel is pain, radiating from my very bones. I grit my teeth to keep it in, but it bubbles out anyway. I let out a scream.

“We have to help her!” He says and I want to raise my hand to his face, tell him I am okay, but I am twisting and sobbing with pain.

“Katniss!” He is holding my face still, and I pry apart my eyelids. 

“Peeta?” I say and he lets out a relieved sob, kissing the top of my head, his face wet with snot and tears.

“Katniss?” His voice is trembling “What happened?” 

“It hurts.” I say plainitvely, my voice small and childlike and thick with tears. “It hurts.” I say again, its the only thing I can think. 

“I know, I know it does, love.” he says in a soothing voice. “Can you tell us what happened to you?” 

I want to, I want to have it spill out of my chest. 

“It hurts.” I repeat in a hollow voice. 

That darkness is at the edge of my vision, blackening the edges of my gray tinted heart. 

“He killed Prim.” I say, just as the emptiness overtakes me.

 

KPKPKPKPKP

 

Effie Trinket stands on the stage in a garish, lime green dress, her matching wig slightly askew. Her high heels click in the silence, marking each measured step she takes. I stand in the mass of bodies, sandwiched between a merchant girl and a seam boy. The heat bares down on me, making my skin slick with sweat. Effie walks toward the bowl, her face fixed in an unsettling smile that is too big for her face.

“As always, Ladies first!” I feel the crowd shift on unsure feet. The collective quiet is unnerving. She reaches her gloved hand into the bowl and swishes it around, clasping the first, clean white slip that her fingers touch.

She takes her time unfolding it. 

“Primrose Everdeen!” her voice rings out, clear as a bell.

I feel my legs give out from beneath me.

Its over now.

She's gone.

I couldn't save her.

Perhaps, I never could.

KPKPKKPKPKP

I know he's here before I even open my eyes, I instinctively lean back, pressing my back into his chest. His solidness and warmth is more than I could have hoped for. I tilt my head back and kiss him, pressing my chapped lips against his, breathing in that scent of vanilla and cinnamon and dill.

“Its beautiful here.” he says softly, pressing a kiss into my windswept hair. I hum in agreement, agitated that he has broken the gentle silence that I have grown to love. 

“She's here somewhere.” I say, looking around, lifting a hand to sheild my eyes from the sun.

“Who?” he asks. “Its just us here.” he says with a wolfish smile, nipping at the place where my shoulder meets my neck with gentle teeth.

“Prim is here.” I say, looking around somewhat frantically. 

“Who?” he says, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“My sister.” I say firmly. 

His arms snake around my waist, holding me to him, tethering me to the spot where I sit, leaned against him.

“Her?” he says simply. “She was never here.” 

I want to argue, I want to scream in his face. “She was real!” its useless though, he's right.

She isn't here.


	22. Chapter 21

Only when the darkness threatens to crush me do I wake, my ribcage caving in. I try to pry my eyes open but only one budges, the other too swollen. The first thing I register is a light far too bright to be natural, and I let out a small whimper, the light disappears and I let out a small sound of appreciation. 

Then I feel a calloused thumb run over my cheekbone, warm and large. I hear my name, breathy and grateful, against my ear. I try to move but my limbs are heavy. 

“Can you hear me?” 

Reality comes dripping back in, like a leaky faucet. 

“Pr-” I try to call to my sister, but my mouth is dry and sticky and my throat feels raw, like I've been screaming. It takes too long to formulate that I probably have been.

My head is lifted and a glass of water is brought to my lips. I take a small, timid sip and whine has my head throbs. 

I try to take in my surroundings, I am somewhere dark and dank, cold and damp. I am on a cot with a worn mattress and a scratchy wool blanket is tangled with my legs. I am no longer in my dress but a flannel nightgown that rides up my thighs. 

“Prim.” I say, my voice strong and swift. Looking to my right and finding Peeta, all sallow skin, looking like he hasn't slept in days. 

His eyes skip downward, red rimmed and empty, too large for his face and in that moment I know. She isn't here, not anymore.

“Katniss.” He says, his voice so barren, so destitute. A tear strays down his face and drips off his chin. “Katniss, peacekeepers came to your house.”

“Don't.” I whisper, my voice gravelly and low.

“Katniss.” He implores, but I am turning away from him, towards a window that is so high up and small it can't possibly be good for anything but letting in light. 

He doesn't have to say it.

My sister is gone.

My mother is gone.

I have no use for light anymore.

“Katniss, your sister and your mother...” his voice trails off, I hear a soft sigh push from his lips. “They're dead.” his voice shatters into a sob and I shut my eyes, feeling something tired drag through my veins. 

For a moment I have an image of my mother, I was young, maybe six. She is standing over me in the kitchen, near the warmth of the stove. I must have reached out and touched the fire. All I can feel is a searing pain on the pad of my finger. My chest heaves as she bends down to examine it, wiping her hands on her apron.

She takes my hand in hers and wipes a small smear of ointment on the bubble of red that is beginning to form there. Its cooling, but after a moment she leans her head down and drops a soft kiss onto it.

“There.” she says with a soft smile, her eyes crinkling. Her fingers run through my hair for a moment. “All better.” she whispers. 

And just like that, it was.

Only she had that power.

 

“Katniss.” Peeta whispers, his voice bringing be back to reality. “Katniss, please.” he whispers and his fingers drag through my hair, just like my mothers had, on a long ago winter day. The feeling of it pulls something violent through me.

“Get out.” I say, my voice cold and low.

“Katniss?” 

“I said, get out.” I spew, just as a tear leaks its way out of my swollen eye. 

I hear him stand, with clumsy strides he climbs a staircase and disappears behind a door, just as a heaving sob escapes my chest and trips out of my mouth. 

My sister. 

I try to conjure her in my head. Her flaxen hair that curls around her shoulders, her wide blue eyes, the color of a endless summer sky and just as large. The spattering of freckles on her neck. Her crooked smile that dances on her rosebud lips. I can see her, as clear as day.

Its useless. It won't bring her back.

I failed her.

I feel the scream, but I don't hear it over the voice in my head.

It chants.

Dead, Dead, Dead.

Just like that the last piece is taken away. 

 

Cray laughs at me from his grave.

He brought me down in the end.

 

Has it been hours? days? Months?

All I feel is grief, a hot, mammoth fire that builds in my chest. Somewhere near by it burns, warming my face while all I can do is stare at it, with indifferent eyes. I work hard, staring at the ceiling, trying to close all these tiny fissures I am sure are carved into my skin. Somewhere, a fire is burning, and I shut the door on it.

I open my eyes to the darkness and find Haymitch sitting in a hard backed chair, his eyes hooded, a bottle at his feet.

“Welcome back, girl.” he says, his voice gruff.

I don't say anything, my eyes just bore holes into him.

“Listen-” he starts but I cut him off.

“Where's Peeta?” I ask, my voice raw.

“Kid finally fell asleep, he's been up for two days looking after you.” I nod. 

I peek up at Haymitch from my pillow and try to formulate a response, but the only thing I can think is my sisters name, trapped beneath my tongue. 

“Here.” He says somewhat awkwardly, handing me the bottle. I stare at the clear liquid that sloshes against the bottle. I sit up slowly, my body screaming in protest. 

I chew on my lips for a moment and eye him suspiciously.

“It'll help.” he says gently and I nod. I take a swig and make a face, Haymitch smiles without any trace of humor. I take another, then another, the fire brewing in my chest an entirely different sort. I feel a knot in my stomach unclench and I tip the bottle towards my face, only to have Haymitch snatch it away from me.

“I think that will be enough.” he says, standing up, his stooped frame towering over me for a moment as he looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. I think it might be sympathy. 

“Get some sleep.” He says and he turns, but just as he reaches the door he pauses, clearing his throat.

“Katniss.” he says “It gets easier.” he says it like it is a prayer. 

“One day, it'll be easier.” he nods his head along as if he is trying to believe it himself.

“What would you know about it?” I spit, “Victor.” I add, my voice laced with a ribbon of venom. He just shakes his head and climbs the stairs.

I roll over and shut my eyes.

I feel my gray tinged life turning black around the edges, melting to ash.

Sometime, Peeta creeps in with a bowl of broth. 

I feel his presence long before I have the strength to open my eye. He sits there with the bowl of broth, steaming on his lap.

“You should try to eat.” he croaks in a shaky voice. 

He blows on the spoon until its cool and holds it to my lips, I keep them pressed together tightly. The broth dribbles down my chin. 

“Katniss.” he says, sounding somewhat exasperated. He holds out another spoonful and I take a small sip. My stomach groans loudly. How long has it been since I've eaten? 

We continue like this, Peeta trying to coax small spoonfuls into my mouth and me, denying more than I eat. When the bowl is gone, He gingerly pulls back my blanket and carries me to a small bathroom where he sets me on the cold tile. I immediately slide down his side to the floor, wrapping my arms around my aching body.

He turns on the faucet and rolls up his sleeves as he tests the water. When its filled up he crawls over to me. “Katniss.” he says, wiping my face with his large hands, tilting my chin up so I am forced to look him in the eyes. “I'm going to take off your nightgown, okay?” I nod, not caring about anything, least of all my modesty.

He lifts up my dress and untangles it from my head. When he does he takes in a sharp breath and I am forced to look down at myself.

I blink, once, twice, trying to decipher what I am seeing. 

In the harsh, artificial light I look pale, my skin pulled tight against my bones. What really gets me are the bruises, everywhere, all over me, purple and black and green. I have knots beneath my skin, some swollen, with shallow cuts. I don't really understand it, so I look away.

He lifts me, so, so gently and I can't help the hiss I give when my body hits the warm water. 

Peeta kneels next to me, his arms red from the water. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asks and I shake my head, my hair waterlogged and heavy. 

“Cray.” he says, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

Something shoots across my vision, my hand fisted around a bloody rock.

“He attacked me.” I say, my voice low.

“Yeah, he did.” Peeta murmurs, His eyes glancing down.

“I did him worse.” I say, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“Yeah, you did.” Peeta says, his voice flat and empty of any emotion.

I squint my eyes, an image of Cray laughing at me, his eyes crinkled and his lips wet. 

A sad little king of a sad little hill.

“My sister.” I say brokenly.

Peeta has nothing to say to that, he just looks at me, his eyes dark blue pools.

“What happened?” I ask

Peeta looks away, his eyes flitting away from me, just like they did in school.

“Tell me.” I demand.

“How?” his voice is broken, crackling under the weight of grief. Tears clinging to those pallid eyelashes of his. 

“Just say it.” I say, shutting my eyes tight. I wait for the blow, something I am good at, I've perfected taking hits.

He takes in a long, heaving breath that shakes with grief. “The peacekeepers found the ducks, they drug them outside, and shot them.” I feel the first sob wrack my chest.

“Where?” I ask, my voice hard.

“What?” he asks

“Where did they shoot them?” I say harshly.

“Your yard.”

The place where my father had spent summer afternoons playing his guitar while Primrose caught fireflies and I sat next to him, listening in rapt attention. 

The place where Peeta left flowers.

I wonder if my mother looked out towards the meadow, looking for my father.

I wonder if Prim felt the bullet in her brain.

I wonder if she called my name before her blood splattered into the grass.

Its too much.

I collapse into an empty, wrenching cry.

Peeta is gathering me up, with my wet matted hair and bruised body.

I shatter into a thousand pieces, they skitter to the floor. 

And Peeta, with all of his strength, isn't enough to pull them back together. 

To my astonishment, he doesn't try, just lets me sob against his neck while my hair drips onto his shirt, letting the grief run its course, like a fever, and release me when I am too spent to cry anymore. Then he sets me on the floor in front of the tub, perching on the edge and combing through the tangles in my hair and helping me dress back into the loose nightgown that only brushes my skin. 

He carries me back to the cot and sets me down on the stained mattress, my damp hair soaking the pillow. He falls into the chair beside me, his head falling into his hands.

“Katniss, I am so sorry.” he says, his fingers threading through my hair. I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep. Feeling like there is nothing left of me to function. 

My sister fills my head leaving it heavy as lead. 

I start to cry, tears leaking from my eyes intermittently. Sometimes I sob, bringing Peeta and his warm fingers and words I can't process in my brain, but they sound soothing. His voice a balm against my chapped brain, that can't seem to shut off, no matter how tired I am. I can't seem to escape the vision of my sister, sprawled out on the dead grass beneath the ancient clothes line where my mother used to hang sheets, the fabric billowing in the wind.

When the screaming becomes too much, Haymitch brings the sleep syrup, and Peeta doles out a small amount to me on sweet bread, and I don't protest, I just swallow, hoping when the darkness crushes me it will have the decency to take the pain away. 

Peeta clasps my clammy hand in his. 

Its the last thing I formulate before sleep overtakes me. 

Ignoring my fathers voice at the back of my head, whispering, accusatory.

“You promised.”

KPKPKPKPKPKP

My sister sits at the rivers side, her hair spilling over her shoulders. 

My heart beats frantically against my ribcage, stammering at the sight of her, whole and real.

“Primrose?” she gives me a sideways glance and smirks. 

“Its beautiful here, I can see why you love it.” She says, leaning her face back to soak in the sunlight. 

I turn to watch the river, the water white with rage as it snakes down through the valley. 

“It can be.” I say, my voice raw. I want to tell her of the beautiful things I've seen. A fawn, taking its first shaky steps in the spring sunshine as its mother stands over it, protective. I've seen a bear cub lift its face up to the soaking rain. I've seen the moon hanging high above the snow, white and blinding. I've also seen the darkness this place holds, the starved carcass of deer in winter, frosted over, its ribcage hanging open. I've seen a wild sow eat her children and the gloom that hangs beneath the pines, even on the brightest days and the fury of a blizzard wind, pounding the life from the woods. 

Suddenly she laughs, a jarring noise that sets my bones on fire. 

That fire, building behind the door.

“I don't know what I am going to do without you.” I say softly. 

She clucks her tongue at me. “Nothing to do Katniss.” she says, “I'll still be dead, this will still be a dream when you wake.” I make a humming noise at the back of my throat, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes until it all I see is blackness.

“They'll still come for you.” In the distance that wolf howls. 

“I'm sorry.” I say uselessly. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”

“Katniss, you can't save anyone.” she shakes her head, her eyes locked on a distant spot. “No one but yourself.” 

She stands and holds her hand out to me, I can only look at it, her palm outstretched toward me. Slowly, as if it is poison, I take it. She leans her head against my shoulder, her hair smelling like her pillow, even long after she had left, like lilacs and lemongrass. 

“Come on, you hunter, you prisoner, you seer of visions.” she smiles, her eyes so bright and expressive they capture me and hold me here, my breath hitching in my chest. She reaches out her fingers and tilts my chin upward. “Look at the light, and shine.” 

I wrap my arms around her waist, in an attempt to keep her here, though I know its stupid, she's dead, and like it or not, I am still living. 

The world feels suddenly smaller.

I grasp onto her tighter, when she tries to move away from me. 

“Katniss.” she admonishes. “You need to let go.”

I remember her as a small child, peeking out from our mothers skirt, smiling at me, her front tooth missing. “Kat!” she chirps, being too young to pronounce my name properly. Her blonde hair braided into two small pigtails that stick out from behind her ears like puppy ears. 

We are the world, only small. 

It wasn't much, but always good enough for me. 

My voice catches as she slips from my grasp.

“I can't.” 

The mockingjays don't pick it up, they let it hang in the air, echoing out around me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thanks.” I say softly, and I am off, hopping over fences and streaking through yards, ducking down alleyways. In that small moment he had given me clarity, I know where I am going, to safety, security. I need my woods.
> 
> They've taken my sister, my mother. 
> 
> They can't have the boy with the bread.

I am still under the fog of the syrup when my eyes open. I hear soft whispers, voices carrying through the last tendrils of sleep that cling to me. 

“Where will we take her?” Its Gale, his voice hard.

“Don't know, but we can't keep her here, just a matter of time until they come through searching for her.” Haymitch says.

“She can't leave yet, not like this.” Peeta. His voice closes around my heart like a vice.

“She doesn't have a choice.” Haymitch says, his voice gruff. “They didn't buy Darius's story.”

Darius, the kind peacekeeper, always quick with a joke. Lied to save me, why? 

“Nothing good is waiting for him.” Haymitch says grimly. The words slice through me like a knife, cutting some soft, scarred over part of me. 

“We need to get her out of the district.” Haymitch says.

“How?” Peeta says his voice empty. “She killed the head peacekeeper.”

Murdered, I correct him in my head.

“They have every peacekeeper in the district out looking for her.”

“With the riots, it'll be easy for you to slip out, if you play your cards right.” Gale says.

I sit up quick, my head spinning violently with the motion.

“Riots?” I ask, and the three of them turn to look at me in unison, shocked.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Haymitch says, taking a swig from his ever present flask. 

“Riots?” I repeat.

“Seems the district didn't take too kindly to a fifteen year old girl being killed in her yard.” Haymitch says.

Murdered, I correct in my head.

Only now do I look around me, the dark, dank room I've been tossed into, I hadn't cared where I was before. With this cold feeling in my bones, I have to wonder.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“A cellar.” Haymitch says cryptically, turning to climb the stairs.

Gale sighs, popping his cap off and running his fingers through his hair. 

Peeta moves toward me, sitting at the foot of my cot. 

“Katniss, we need to get you out of the district.” 

I watch a bug crawling on the cement floor. I gather my knees to my chest and when he reaches out to touch me I flinch. 

“Katniss, are you listening to me? They'll come for you.” 

Visions of my sister pop and sizzle to life in my brain. 

She stands like a skeleton in my memory. 

“Peeta?” I say.

My sister stands at the edge of the meadow, her back to me, two braids down her back, and that duck tail.

No matter if I shut my eyes or not, she won't turn to look at me.

Those eyes aren't for me, not anymore.

“Katniss?” he questions as I tilt my head.

“I don't care if they find me.” my voice is resigned, I lay myself back down and look at the wall. 

“Katniss, look at me.” he pleads, but its useless, I have no use for escape plans, because I have no plan of escaping. Let the wolves come, all dripping teeth salivating for my death. Let them come and devour me whole, just like my precious sister. 

I find just enough strength to pull the blanket over my head.

Shutting out the light.

In between sleep and waking, I dream of blood mixing in the dirt, making a dark mud. I barely register that I am screaming. Peeta crawls beneath the blanket and pulls me flush against him, whispering soft words. That is when the crying starts, I turn to look at him from underneath soggy eyelashes and find him looking at me with eyes warm and blue, just like hers.

The only sound between us is my ragged breathing. 

“She's really gone.” I whisper and he nods.

And then that fire that I had shut the door on explodes, I pound my fists against his chest weakly but with as much fight as I can muster. “She's gone.” I say over and over, brokenly, as he lets the storm of my grief beat against him. “She's gone.” I moan.

“Its my fault.” I wail, Peeta tries to gather me up but I push against his chest.

“No,” I snap, “Don't forgive me!” 

“Do you want someone to blame?” Peeta asks as my fragmented fingernails claw their way down the front of his shirt. “You can blame me.” he whispers, his breath tickling my ears. “I don't mind.” 

And with those words all the fight leaves my body as I curl in on my self, burrowing into him while he pets me uselessly. 

“Want me to tell you a story?” he asks as my chest heaves and my tear slicked cheek presses against his neck. I nod weakly.

He tells me a story about a toy rabbit that comes to life, he says he read it in a book once. Truth is I am not really listening, but it gives me an excuse to bury myself against him and pretend that I am not real, that this damnable district isn't a real place, that my sister isn't really dead. Its all nothing, just nothing.

I don't know how long we stay this way, but when my eyes open there is daylight streaming through that small window. Gale is looking down on us, his silver eyes glinting and shining with some unnameable emotion. 

“Katniss, its time.” He says the second my eyes pop open. 

He is holding a bundle in his hands, my clothes, leather patched trousers and a black button down shirt, my fathers hunting jacket hanging over his shoulder, there is a pack on the floor at his feet, and my fathers guitar leaning against the wall, safe in its case. 

I sit up slowly and look down at Peeta, sleeping, his large frame hanging off the cot, his arm slung over his face. 

“Where am I supposed to go?” I ask.

“Somewhere far away from here.” Gale says, his voice thick. 

“How long do you really expect that I can survive out there?” I spit, grabbing the clothes from his hands and balling them against my stomach.

“As long as it takes.” he whispers, wringing his calloused hands.

“I'm so tired.” I say, my gray eyes sliding up his.

“We all are, Katniss.” 

“I don't want to go.” I say softly, sniffling in the stream of sunlight, Peeta stirs next to me, his fingers reaching out for me, I grasp them gently, Gale eyes our intertwined hands for a moment before shaking his head, clearing it of thought.

“You don't have a choice, what do you think they'd do to him?” He juts his chin toward Peeta. Peeta and his halo of curls, sleeping soundly next to me. Gale turns on his heel and bounding up the stairs in three quick motions, his long legs taking the steps three at a time. 

He pauses at the top of the stairs, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Katniss, I'm sorry.” he says, and as the door shuts after him I wonder when I became Katniss to him, when he stopped feeling the need to call me Catnip. 

 

I dress slowly, my muscles throbbing with each movement. I move on hunters feet to the bathroom, flicking on the light. I gasp at the sight of my face, mottled with bruises and cuts. My eye is a sickly yellow color, swollen and ugly. My lip is fat, and a little bit of drool hangs from the edge of my mouth. My hair is a tangled mess, wild around my face. I pull a comb through it, the teeth tugging on my scalp painfully, but I don't seem to mind, the pain keeps me grounded, focused on the girl in the mirror, who looks at me like I am a stranger to her.

I don't braid my hair, I just let it hang around my shoulders. 

Finally, I tug my boots over my socked feet and lace them up my shins. 

If I didn't have these patchwork bruises I'd look like myself.

Inside, I am a wasteland. 

Peeta is awake, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Katniss?” he questions. “You're up.” he sounds sleepy, and somewhat pleased. I just stare at him, the bridge of his nose and the freckles sprayed there, his eyes that look up at me, only half alert. I thank whoever might be listening for his existence in this moment.

“Time to go.” I say, just as the sound of footsteps crash down the stairs.

I whirl around to find Haymitch staring at me, out of breath.

“Time to run.” He shouts, grabbing my arm. Peeta is up in an instant, following us and Haymitch pushes me toward a door with frosted glass windows. 

It is too late. 

The peacekeepers are barreling down the stairs, shouting at us not to move and training their guns on our backs. 

Haymitch raises his arms above his head, releasing me. 

Peeta does too, dropping the boots he had grabbed from beside the bed, for a moment its the only noise in the room, those boots clattering to the floor.

I don't follow suit, my hands remain at my sides.

“Katniss Everdeen?” the Peacekeeper shouts and I nod in confirmation.

I hear his belt jingling as he holsters his gun and then I feel him pulling on my arms, handcuffing them behind me. 

I hear something crash to my right, I don't look, just shut my eyes.

“Let her go!” Peeta shouts, his voice desperate. 

Something else crashes and when my eyes pop open I see Peeta being pushed against the wall, a gun pressed to his temple. His cheek is smashed against the cement, a peacekeepers gloved hand tangled with his hair, his eyes locked with mine, chest heaving. “Katniss.” he says, a whisper. 

“Don't.” I think, my head throbbing with the sight of him, my eyes sliding shut again. 

Then I am being drug forward, my feet scrapping the ground. 

Cool air on my sweaty skin. I hear the distant chirp of birds. The sun is high and blinding, the sky is a rich blue. 

The sun rose today, just as it did the day before, my sister alive or not, it didn't matter a single little bit. 

The world goes on, brutal and stupid.

I do not. 

When my eyes open I see I am not in the Seam, I'm not in town, but one of the empty houses of the Victors Village. I catch the group of people on the lawn, all of their hands bound behind their backs, Madge Undersee, her blonde hair wild around her face, her eyes trained on the ground, blood leaking from a wound on her head, her hair matted red. Harlow, lips trembling and shirt torn. Gale Hawthorne, watching me with cool gray eyes as I am being drug down the road. I just catch sight of Peeta Mellark, being tossed down to the ground, fighting against his restraints and screaming my name. 

The first thing I register is the square, full of people, who all stop to look at me, the crowd growing eerily quiet. 

How many people had seen me walking to or from Cray's home? The filth built up on my skin, the bruises, the cuts. How many of them slung insults my way? How many of them looked away?

They can't look away now, can they? 

Not with me staring them in the face. 

I've finally shut them up. 

I let my body go limp, making myself heavier as they drag me towards the Justice building, my head hangs as I stare at my feet, dragging through the dirt. 

I hear his voice.

“Wait!” He cries, breathless.

Idiot!

“Wait!” he shouts again, and I feel someone release me, I fall to my knees in the dirt.

“Someone grab him!” someone shouts.

“I did it!” I feel myself being stood up and without looking up I know its him, his warm hands pushing me behind him. “I killed Cray!”

Fucking Idiot!

My head snaps up and he is standing in front of me, blocking me from the peacekeepers. For the first time I fight against the handcuffs that keep me defenseless, useless. 

“Sure you did.” One of the Peacekeeper says, its the older one, the one that lead me to Cray, toward my demise. I can't help but wonder idly for a moment if it was him, that killed my mother, my sister. 

“I did.” Peeta says, backing me toward the alleyway, keeping the peacekeepers at bay. 

Does he think I'll run and leave him to the wolves?

“And how did you do that, exactly?” The peacekeeper asks, an amused smirk on his face.

At this Peeta leans forward. 

“I saw him attacking Katniss.” He whispers, his hands straining against his restraints. Someone smashes the butt of their gun into Peeta's face, I let out a cry as Peeta laughs, blood smeared across his teeth. “And I smashed his damned face in.” He says, smiling at the peacekeeper, all blood and teeth. 

What the hell is he thinking?

They're grabbing Peeta and pulling him away from me. It wakes something hot inside of me. 

“Peeta!” I shout as the wolves drag him away.

Something breaks inside of me. I thought that Cray had stolen the very last piece of me. I was wrong, I had more to lose. 

Someone grabs me from behind and I fight against them, snarling like the wild animal I am. 

Peeta twists his head around to find me. He tries to smile, but blood is dripping down his lips. 

“Katniss, it's okay!” he shouts, he is still looking for me, his eyes flitting around wildly. 

“Katniss, run!” he shouts.

My feet can't find any purchase in the dirt. I throw my head back as I am drug through the back alley. They drop me on the ground, hard.

Rye stares at me, breathing hard. 

“You better run.” He says. 

I cock my head to the side, studying him, but he's already looking back towards the place where his brother just was. Gone, now.

“Are you mad?” he snaps, “Run.” 

But I can't stop staring at the place Peeta just was. His bootprints in the dust.

“You can't help him from a prison cell.” Rye says softly.

He's right.

I am a blur, running through the district, not too sure of where I am going exactly. 

I feel someone slam into me and I let out a wail.

“Its me.” Thom says, pushing me into a doorway, he has a knife out and is cutting the straps from my wrists. 

He wraps a hand over my mouth and presses a finger into his lips in a plea for silence.

I hear screams of dissent echoing out from the square, popping of gunfire, crashing glass. 

“Thanks.” I say softly, and I am off, hopping over fences and streaking through yards, ducking down alleyways. In that small moment he had given me clarity, I know where I am going, to safety, security. I need my woods.

They've taken my sister, my mother. 

They can't have the boy with the bread.

I pause at the fence, chest frantic for air. 

It stands calm and quiet, as the district screams around it.

Funny. I think.

Now they care.

Before, the decent people of district twelve did what decent people do, shut their doors. 

Now they rage for blood. 

As a merchant boy is being drug to his death. For a crime I committed. 

No trial, just a bullet to his brain, maybe a noose, to wrap around his neck. 

But I, who is no one, nothing, with nowhere to go. Cannot, will not fail him. 

I wriggle beneath the fence and do what I was born to.

I run.

Willing myself faster, not looking behind me at the district. 

I find my bow where I left it, only now do I look around.

Its a spring day, tinged with hope, All bright sky and cool wind, the trees sway gently. 

Something has turned the scenery, normally beautiful, now wicked.

My fingers flex around the smooth wood, knuckles cracking. 

This will be my last act. They'll kill me for sure, but maybe with me dead, the truth will come out, someone will speak up, Gale or Madge perhaps, and Peeta will be spared.

The vicious girl with no sister.

She'll be gone. 

I turn back toward town, walking with purposeful steps, one after another, not caring where they fall. Storm clouds brewing behind my eyes. My quiver of arrows strapped across my back.

I hear my mothers voice, soft and sweet from somewhere deep within me.

“Sweet girl, you're going to burn this district to the ground.” 

Before I cross the fence I tuck my arrows into my jacket, Slip my bow beneath it, hiding it from sight. I brazenly slip under the fence and walk, not breaking stride, toward my empty home. 

Its quiet. The door hanging open.

A smear of dried blood down the steps. 

For a moment, All I can do is stare at it. My chest heaving. 

Is it Prims?

My mothers?

My whole body is trembling under the weight of it. 

“Katniss, run.” Peeta says in my head. 

I shut my eyes and bound up the steps.

I wasn't prepared to see the struggle.

The table is overturned, feathers spilled and stuck on the floor.

The television has crashed to the ground. 

Peeta had told me what had happened.

The reality of it is entirely different.

“Its my fault.” I whisper, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. 

My entire being is trembling. 

I force my feet to move toward the kitchen.

The emotions will come.

Not now.

I fumble through drawers until I find what I am looking for, a small bottle of kerosene and a book of matches.

I am out of the house and down the stairs in record time, my feet barely skimming the floor. 

 

I feel the first flicker of heat in my chest. 

 

Do they feel me? Coming for them?

Does Peeta?

I slip through the district like a ghost through fog. My knuckles grazing a wall as I slip down an alley. 

Its slow going, and I've never been known for my patience.

Peacekeepers are everywhere, and I duck and crouch through the district.

Until I find it, the warehouse where I spent all those tuesday afternoons with Peeta, hiding away from everyone. 

I shove the door open and pull something cloth from the floor, a blanket.

I ball it up against the wall, dosing it with kerosene, the smell stinging my nostrils. 

I try not to think of Peeta sleeping in the dust, I fail miserably.

I see him sketching, his eyes far away from me, an entire world locked away within him.

Yes, Rye, I am mad.

I feel my eyebrows knit together, my face contorting from a shell to something else entirely.

I feel myself strike the match against the box and my hand hangs above the blanket, waiting. 

I will walk into that square with dagger, storm cloud eyes, fevered and empty and I will blow this wretched place to bits. I will rain down my anger on them. Igniting this black day with sparks of gold and orange.

Open your eyes.

Look at the light. 

I get a hot, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

I will a message to Peeta.

Turn away from the darkness, the madness, the pain.

Open your eyes and look at the light.

Know that I am here.

I drop the match and watch it turn to glitter.


	24. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowd shouts, a bottle is thrown, then a brick. Miners and Merchants alike, shout their anger to the sky. The sky is darkening, ash is falling, catching in my hair. The world is crumbling, caving in. I hear the roar of fire and the groan of the warehouse as it falls. 
> 
> I feel the string of my bow, pulled across my cheek, such a familiar feeling, much like breathing. 
> 
> My father stands at the edge of my memory. 
> 
> “Cringe like a dog.” he says.
> 
> I won't be the cringing dog, not today.

The smoke makes my lungs churn in my chest. I'm running, I'm sure of it, the gravel beneath my feet flying upwards. I don't feel my legs moving beneath me, but I push myself faster, faster still. The warehouse had gone up quicker than I anticipated, the coal dust catching, igniting in a wall. People are already pointing, shouting. I ignore them, streaking down roads, not slowing when I slam into someone, just pushing them to the side. My legs scream, my lungs heave, and I don't slow, because at this moment they are dragging Peeta towards the stage at the front of the justice building, and his eyes are scanning the crowd that screams and writhes. He's looking for me. 

I will blow this world to bits before I let them take him from me.

The boy with the bread. 

Because without him, I won't survive. Its the only thought that keeps me going. I've lost my sister, the sweet girl with the dancing eyes. They took my father, blew him to bits deep within the earth. They took my mother and her healing hands. They wanted me, but they hadn't counted on Peeta, the last good thing left in a world that eats good things whole. 

I skirt around the square, looking around me desperately. Taking chaotic steps that at this point will hurt no one but me.

The air shimmers and my head pulses. 

I am trying to catch my breath and all I smell is smoke and ash.

That is all this place is after all.

I imagine for a moment that there is another world where right now I am sitting, bathed in candlelight, my sister smiling next to me while I clean game. A world where I never went to Cray. A world where I can still here my mother crying softly in her bedroom. Calling out for my father, who never comes. A world where Peeta Mellark never spoke to me on a cold November day. He never danced with me in the dark. Never made me laugh in the sweet shop. A world where he never drug that light that I didn't know I needed into my life. 

It seems unthinkable. 

He was always suppose to be here. 

I find a tree and climb, my fingers scrapping the rough bark. I mutter things to myself. Spitting uncomplimentary things about Peeta as I climb. I mumble words like “Stupid.” and “Idiot.” Until I find a branch that gives me a good vantage point and I nock my arrow, the feathers tickling my cheek. Its a feeling as old as time inside of me. How many times have I been in this exact position, waiting for my prey? 

The world falls away as I watch Peeta being drug up the stairs. His hair is matted, curls falling into his face. His skin in coppery with dried blood, his hands are still bound behind his back, he says something to a peacekeeper with a smile. I can see the peacekeeper contort with rage, knocking the butt of his gun into the back of Peeta's head. He falls forward and I feel something inside of me seize, anger jolting and pulling through me like the blood in my veins. 

Know that I am here.

And I wear this face of discontent for the both of us. 

 

The crowd shouts, a bottle is thrown, then a brick. Miners and Merchants alike, shout their anger to the sky. The sky is darkening, ash is falling, catching in my hair. The world is crumbling, caving in. I hear the roar of fire and the groan of the warehouse as it falls. 

I feel the string of my bow, pulled across my cheek, such a familiar feeling, much like breathing. 

My father stands at the edge of my memory. 

“Cringe like a dog.” he says.

I won't be the cringing dog, not today.

Someone shouts something and the Peacekeeper points towards the burning warehouse, shouting orders to some of the other men, who run off towards the smoke, billowing upwards, black and lazy. The crowd surges forward, writhing, empty, screaming. 

I catch Haymitch in the crowd, not watching the fire, but Peeta. 

Peeta has been pushed to his knees in the middle of the stage. He doesn't fight, he doesn't yell, his eyes just scan the crowd. Flitting this way and that, two dark pools of pain. 

Does he think I abandoned him?

The peacekeeper behind him shouts for order, his arm raising, the gun gleaming in the sunlight. I aim, my fingers twitch. 

My fathers voice in my head. 

“Hold steady.” 

I inhale, smoke burning in my nostrils. 

I release and the world crumbles away as I watch the arrow speed through the air. 

Time goes sluggish. 

Then it finds its mark, the peacekeeper falls, arrow sticking out of his throat. 

People are shrieking, pointing. I am climbing, breaking branches on my way down and the second my boots hit the ground I am running, tearing through the crowd, an arrow nocked and ready. I expect to fight the crowd, but they seem to part for me. I only catch small glimpses of faces, filled with fear and something else I can't name but looks a lot like admiration. 

Then I see he has spotted me as a slow, infuriating smile creeps up on his face.

I climb up onto the stage, grabbing onto him with all the strength in me. He lets out a sob, or a laugh, I'm not sure which. 

“Peeta.” I only manage to squeak as I pull him closer to me. I feel his breath in my hair as he laughs.

“Hey, Fox.” he says, his voice low and gravelly. 

“You're an idiot!” I shout through the tears that pour down my face, hot and sticky. 

“So we've established.” he quips as I try and slow my tears. He leans down and presses a kiss to my lips, it tastes like his blood. “I take it that fire was you?” He asks.

“I needed a diversion.” I say. 

“You kids better run.” Its Haymitch, just to my right. He cuts Peetas bindings and is pushing us forward. 

I only now take in the peacekeepers that are swarming the stage. I thread Peeta's fingers through mine, pulling him toward the edge of the stage. 

We leap down together, landing roughly against the cobblestone, just as something explodes, knocking me to the ground. I sit there for a long moment, ears ringing, the world shimmering around me oddly. Then Peeta is hefting me up by the armpits and urging me to run.

“What the hell was that?” I ask over the shouting crowd, the siren that sings from somewhere far off. 

“Word of advice.” Haymitch yells, “Don't Piss off a Donner girl.” My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “They do diversion’s right, Now Go, Get to the fence!”

And then Peeta is shoving me forward as I desperately try to catch my bearings. The crowd parts and just as the peacekeepers reach the edge and try to push forward they swallow us whole. Gunfire erupts and I feel a bullet whiz by my head. I duck into Peeta's chest and his hand rests protectively over my ear for a moment. 

Peeta pushes me in front of him as we run, willing me forward. 

I nearly stop short when I see a house, crumpled and burning to our right. Peeta catches me and shoves me forward. “Keep going.” he growls in my ear and I do. Embers glowing in the dying spring light, etching themselves into my eyelids. This is a day I will never forget. 

I find Madge waiting at the fence, Gale, red faced and bloodied next to her, their hands intertwined. Madge is covered in coal dust, blood smeared on her cheek. She smiles when she sees us running toward her, she beckons us forward. 

Gale pulls his knitted cap off and eyes it in his hands. 

“Madge, you wily girl!” Peeta says as he pants, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “That was quite an explosion.” 

“Couldn't help myself, that Peacekeeper was a total dick.” she says, her tone smart. The blood in her hair dried to a rust color. She has her hands on her hips, her lips pressed together in a petulant line. 

Peeta laughs, a breathless noise, but I am staring at the two packs by Gale's feet, my fathers guitar, the yellowed paper that juts from his pocket.

“Gale?” I ask, my eyes sliding up towards his. He gives me a humorless smile, taking his cap and pulling it over my ears, taking his time straightening it on my head. His hands lingering for just a moment on my cheekbones. From the corner of my eye I see Madge drop her eyes to the ground, giving us a moment of privacy. 

“Here.” he says pulling the paper from his pocket and shoving it into my shaking hands. 

“What is it?” Peeta asks.

“A map.” Gale says, I'm only half listening, I am studying the paper that trembles in my fingers. The black lines that Gale has made with heavy hand. “Go here, Katniss, when its safe I'll come for you.” I nod, though It feels disjointed, forced. 

“Got it?” he snaps

I nod and he snatches it back, crumpling the paper in his fist.

“Good, get out of here.” He says.

“Gale.” I say, suddenly desperate to fill this void in my chest.

“I said get.” he says, his charcoal eyes hard. I wonder where my friend went, the tall gangly boy that I met all those years ago with a belt full of fat rabbits. The boy I spent countless afternoons chasing after in the sunshine as he ranted and raved about the unjustness of life. All I see is this twisted pain that has grown up between us. 

I feel Peeta shift his weight next to me. “Katniss, come on.” 

“Madge.” I try again, turning to look at the girl with the heart-shaped face and silver-blonde hair. She smiles at me, cupping my face in her hand that smells of smoke and chemicals. The smart girl that sat quietly next to me in those months after my father died. She leans forward and kisses my cheek. 

“I hope you find some peace.” she says softly.

I nod, swallowing the hard lump at the back of my throat. Peeta is tugging on me now. 

“Katniss.” he says, his voice insistent. 

“Right.” I say, grabbing up a pack, looking longingly at my fathers guitar. I can't take it with me. Gale knows this, I don't know why he would bring it. Its heavy, and useless in the woods. My fingers reach out to touch the hard, worn case. Peeta is scooping up the other pack, watching me. 

I turn away, slinging the pack over my shoulder, training my eyes to the fence. 

When I look back at him, Peeta has the guitar strapped against his back. My lip trembles as he motions for me to lead the way.

“I'll see you soon.” Gale says.

I don't look behind me, only forwards.

I hold the fence up for Peeta, and when he is safely on the other side I am sliding underneath it. He takes my hand , his palm warm against mine. “Come on then.” he whispers. 

I tangle my fingers with his, uncertain, my chest panting with anxiety. 

I look up into his eyes, thankful that I have his warmth at my side, holding me to reality, when I feel like I might float away. 

Dusk is just settling, soft streaks of pink and orange spill across the sky. 

The forest hangs, looming, beyond it, the mountains, towering dark in the distance. How do I do this? Peeta knows nothing of the forest and the power of it. How can I keep us both alive indefinitely? Peeta squeezes my clammy fingers. 

“You know where we're going?” Peeta asks, his voice filled with wonder and fear. I nod, not taking my eyes off the sky. I take a step, then another, and another, my chest lightening slightly with each small step. With each deep lungful of air my I feel my muscles unclench. 

 

We reach the edge of the woods, I pull him into the darkness of the pines. My fingers tightening around his. Just as the woods welcome us into its fold, he is pressing me against a pine tree, the bark rough against my hair. He is cupping my face in his hands, his eyes staring down into mine. His lips just inches from mine. His breath fans against my cheek. 

“I thought they took you from me.” He whispers, to my horror he has tears clinging to his eyelashes. 

“Never.” I say, no trace of humor in my voice, biting my lip. At this he leans down, pressing his lips to mine with an intensity that I have never felt. Something crackles to life in my chest and my fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer.

After what feels like an eternity he comes up for air, panting, his forehead resting against mine. I reach up and try to wipe away the blood from his chin with my sleeve but its no use, its dried on. 

And when we start walking I hear him ask a question, just one word. 

It still hangs on the edge of my consciousness when sleep won't come. I taste it on my lips, burning and sweet. “Together?” His fingers flexing against mine. It leaves my blood tingling and my lips, still tasting of his blood.

We will survive or die. 

But of one thing I am certain, Peeta will be with me.

Always. 

“Together.” I confirm. 

And we plunge toward the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter, then the epilouge guys!
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr.
> 
> http://everafter37.tumblr.com/


	25. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really take him in. Its more than just the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way his clothes hang, the shadows that are beneath his eyes. Its the heaviness in his irises, the sallow tint of his skin, the way his eyes flit around wildly, like he’s looking for an escape.
> 
> Its more than tired.
> 
> I’ve left him alone.

We stop when we reach the lake, it glints silver in the moonlight. I find an old stump near the water and perch on it, watching the water while something breaks from deep inside of me. I drop my pack to the ground and crouch down, a slow keening wail coming from deep inside of me. I feel everything inside of me shaking with the weight of my grief. 

When they took Peeta I had something to keep me going. I had that hate for those white wolves that kept the sadness at bay. Out here in the woods, I only have the quiet for company, the silver moonlight and the dark water, the shadows that the trees cast, making everything look somewhat sinister. 

The lake.

I never thought I would see this place again. 

I hear Peeta falter behind me, clearing his throat awkwardly, his weight shifting from foot to foot. I turn to look at him, wiping my eyes uselessly. He stands a few feet off, his hands wringing in front of him. 

“Katniss?” I can hear the worry in his voice and I hate it. I stand and straighten quickly, turning back for just a moment to look at the water lapping against the rocks. 

“We'll stop here for tonight.” My voice trembles and I bite my lip, the pain slows my tears. 

“Alright.” he says, sounding like there is more that he wants to say, but he stays quiet. 

I lead him to the small shack where I spent days playing house while my father hunted. We're too close to the district to light a fire, but in the pack we find a sleeping bag and a bedroll, we unfurl it and Peeta takes his time unlacing his boots. I find a couple of apples in the pack and I focus all my attention on coring and cutting them. 

“Katniss.” Peeta says. “Thank you, for saving me.” there is something deep in his chest that makes the words hard to understand, I turn them over in my head. Is he talking about today? Or is it something more? 

He opens his mouth up to say something else.

“Peeta?” I say, the words taste like offal. “Shut up.” 

He nods and takes his apple and we climb into the sleeping bag, his arms wrap around me in a way that feels so familiar, like one of those fairy tales Prim use to read, or one of the songs my father used to sing. With his nose nestled against my neck and his warm breath in my hair I feel like I don't deserve it. I take it though, because what choice do I have? I let him whisper those soothing words into me and when I cry I feel as if I have betrayed myself, betrayed Prim, betrayed Peeta. 

The morning comes and I wake.

The morning always comes.

And something funny happens, it feels like my tongue is made of lead. I try to speak but my mouth is dry and I can't really think of anything to say, so I resolve to stay quiet. The sleeping bag is cold and the small cement shack is quiet. I dress quickly in the cold morning and find Peeta sitting on the stump, staring out at the lake. 

I creep up behind him and when I sit next to him he starts, then smiles.

“Hey there, little fox.” he says with a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

I burrow down in my fathers jacket, tucking my nose down into the cool leather. He reaches out and runs his knuckle down the bridge of my nose. “This place is beautiful.” he says, watching the fog wisp off the water as a loon cries mournfully from somewhere across the lake. 

I want to say that I am sorry for dragging him out here. That though its spring, winter is already chasing our heels. I want to say that I am sorry we'll probably both die out here. 

I just run a hand through my tangled hair and stand, offering him my hand. 

He watches the wall of pine trees across the lake for a moment longer before taking my hand and letting me lead him back toward the house. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

We walk for three days before we reach the place Gale had marked on the map. I tug on Peetas sleeve to stop him when I see it. I can't help the small, barest hint of a smile when I see it. 

A river.

Wide and lazy. 

The water is green in the afternoon light and across the way is a hillside that is dappled in evergreen and swaying grass. I take it in slowly, my eyes cast upward toward the blue sky. 

A slope climbs up from its side, and there among the rocks is a small cave. The inside is small but kind of cozy. 

“Home sweet home?” Peeta asks and I nod. Throwing my pack to the ground. Peeta sets to work making us a meager lunch of strawberries and a squirrel I shot, coaxing a fire out of nothing near the riverside. 

I set up our bedroll and sleeping bag, I pull out a blanket and make a bed for us near the mouth of the cave, where we can see anyone coming into the valley. I look down at it for a moment, the days of walking have taken a huge toll on me, my back aches and my feet are covered in blisters. Surely it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a moment?

I make a pillow from my jacket and sleep the day away.

Then the next.

Then the one after.

From the tone of Peeta's voice I can tell he is worried, but I can't seem to rouse myself. He makes me eat, mostly berries and some fish he caught from the river. I try to make myself move, to speak but I can't, my mouth tastes sour and I smell awful, but it doesn't bother me as much as it should.

My bones are heavy, useless things.

I almost get up one morning, the sight of my bow sitting unused at the mouth of the cave brings something up inside of me, something bubbly. When I sit up my head starts to throb and I have a memory of my mother standing over me with a bowl of soup and I fall back down to my bed and cry until Peeta comes and crawls in next to me, pulling the blankets around my shoulders. 

The nights are the worst, those are when the dreams come. 

I dream of Primrose and her dress spattered with blood.

I dream of her blonde braid in front of me, I call out to her and beg her to slow down, but I can never seem to catch up.

I dream of my father and the look he wears on his face is one of disappointment. I beg him over and over to forgive me, but he doesn't.

Peeta always rouses me, holding me through the worst of it. One night between heaving sobs I finally speak, telling him about being a child out in the woods with my father. How he made me promise to always take care of my sister. I agreed, and then failed. 

Peeta is quiet a long time, his chest under my chin is warm and steady. I burrow my face in the crook of his neck as he runs his fingers down the length of my back.

“That is a terrible thing to make someone promise.” he says, his voice soft and far away. “Especially a child.” 

“What would you know about it?” my voice is raspy from disuse. I don't like the way he questions my fathers goodness, especially when he was the only goodness I had for so long.

“I'm just saying Katniss.” I turn away from him as he gives a long suffering sigh. 

“Listen Katniss, I think its a terrible thing to break a promise to the dead.” his voice is soft and his fingers are still warm against my back. “I think its worse to let that promise break you.” 

He can't see the tears that are slowly leaking from my eyes. I won't let him.

The next morning I stand up, determined to hunt.

I stand at the mouth of the cave, blankets wrapped over my head. I search out Peeta, whose at the curve of the river, perched on a rock, a fishing pole stuck into the mud at his feet. He looks so tired. Deep purple bags beneath his blue eyes. He’s lost weight, his cheeks hollow and his shirt hangs off him. He is leaned back, his head resting on his arms. His eyes are closed, lips slightly parted in the sunshine. He seems so far away from me.

I miss him terribly.

I take a step forward, impatient and clumsy, knocking a rock loose with my foot, it clatters into the dirt. Peeta starts and jolts, jumping up and whirling around, finding me, staring at him with slanted, empty eyes. My face void of emotion.

“You’re awake.” He says softly, with a smile, coming to stand next to me. 

“Yeah.” I say with a shrug, the blanket bunches around my neck.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, stumbling over the words. I shake my head, and I watch his face fall, subtly, like he doesn’t want me to see the disappointment that makes his eyes dark. He bites his lip and runs his hands over my arms.

I really take him in. Its more than just the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way his clothes hang, the shadows that are beneath his eyes. Its the heaviness in his irises, the sallow tint of his skin, the way his eyes flit around wildly, like he’s looking for an escape.

Its more than tired.

I’ve left him alone.

I feel so ashamed. 

“You should try to eat something.” He tries to reason, but I am not looking at him.

Beyond him there is a bird, chirping in the willow tree. Its blue-purple feathers glinting in the sunshine. It sings a familiar song, something I have heard a thousand times in my life. It sounds different now, mocking.

She’s back.

I’m slipping away again.

I feel my lip tremble.

I was wrong, today is a bad day, just like yesterday.

“Katniss?” Peeta says, his voice high and breaking.

Was she ever here?

My sweet Primrose, all pale blue and tangled hair, running ahead of me, so quick I couldn’t possibly catch her. She catches flight and I can only watch helplessly as she flutters up towards the sun. She whispers it. “Come on you hunter, you prisoner, you seer of visions, open your eyes.”

I try and rearrange my face into something, anything, but my mouth is tugged down and too heavy to lift. Then Peeta is cupping my face in his hands, pressing his thumbs over my cheekbones and I turn in on myself, I feel something hot fizzing inside of me.

“Let me go.” It whines in my ears. Peeta is too warm for this summers day and I just want to crawl back to my bedroll where I can sleep away the summer sunshine and forget that I am still alive.

“Why don’t you come outside?” He insists, tugging on the edge of my blanket.

I am shaking my head before he finishes speaking, already trying to burrow myself further down into the cave. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me towards the mouth of the cave, the light that hangs there. I want to scream, claw his face, something, anything, but my limbs are tired, and I’ve stopped caring  
.

He practically drags me down to the rivers edge, where the air is cool and sweet and heavy with the scent of water. Dragonflies dance on the wind, and the cicadas buzz somewhere distant and I keep my blanket wrapped tightly around me, but I let him set me down on a rock while he fuzzes over me. Its a beautiful day, painted all blue and bright, the grass sways in the wind. The water from the river winds lazily down somewhere beyond me. The clouds are just light fluff in the sky, as gentle as a cotton dress.

“You look beautiful.” He says, running his thumb in soft circles on the skin of my hand.

Its a lovely little lie, and I want to believe it.

I try to smile, but I can’t.

I just lean my head against his shoulder, and he kisses my forehead.

I notice a bucket at his feet, half full with fresh blueberries. He’s trying so hard to keep us alive. While I hide in my self made cage, locking the door tightly enough to keep him away.

“How do you feel about fish stew for dinner.”

I nod, but I’m not listening to him. My eyes are stuck on a point in the sky as I try to distinguish the moment its color turned an odd shade.

Everything feels wrong.

But then the line at our feet jerks and Peeta is standing, knocking over the bucket, the blueberries spilling into the mud at his feet. I watch them roll across the ground as Peeta curses to himself.

Then I do the unforgivable.

The unthinkable.

I laugh.

A soft tinkling sound that fills my hollow chest and spills over my tongue and out of my lips.

“Laugh now.” Peeta huffs “But that was our breakfast.” He sounds exasperated and flustered. He runs a hand through his curls, making a grab for the fishing pole. His face falls when he sees me. My hand is locked tightly over my mouth as my eyes slide up to his, horror filling every empty crevice inside of me. I feel that fire, filling me, making me warm and tired. Peeta rubs his calloused hand on his neck as if unsure of what exactly to say.

I feel my mouth twist, tears stinging the back of my eyes.

“Its okay, Katniss.” Peeta says with a reassuring smile, both sly and sweet. A perfect combination of him. “She would have laughed too.” 

 

Peeta fishes out a bar of soap from our packs and insists I wash up in the cold river. I comb my hair and change my clothes and stand at the mouth of the cave, bow in hand, quiver of arrows strapped to my back. I look out at the unfamiliar territory with trepidation, my chest bursting with something unnameable. It feels both light and heavy, both black and ashy, lovely and sad. Peeta tugs on my braid, rousing me from my thoughts. 

“Look at you.” he says with a crooked smile. 

I look down at myself uncertainly, furrowing my brows together. 

“What?” I ask.

“You're alive.” he says softly, then he cups his hands against my chin and pulls me closer, kissing me softly. His mouth tastes like berries.

I hunt, anything I can find from squirrels and quail, to turkeys and deer. I collect berries and wild honey. I teach Peeta to swim and in the evenings he teaches me how to read by the river in the light of a fire he built. We kiss and sleep nestled in each others warmth. Peeta collects wildflowers and gives them to me with shy glances. Peeta cooks up the game I bring back and watches me as I turn somersaults in the fast moving water of the river with a crooked grin. Not once does he complain that I drug him out to the wilderness with next to nothing. 

One evening I eye the guitar that has been sitting disused against the wall of the cave.

“I don't know why you brought that thing with us.” I mutter, more to myself than him.

“Some things you need to survive.” 

I nod.

“That guitar isn't one of them.” I say, pulling my knife against the squirrel I am skinning, my fingers slick with blood. 

“Some things you need for your soul, Katniss.” I stare at it a while longer. Summer has come and the evening is muggy and warm, but here by the river there is always a bit of a cool breeze. I pull my braid over my shoulder and reach for the guitar, running my fingers over the case, fiddling with the clasp. 

When I finally open it, I feel a wealth of memories wash over me. Every summer evening with my family, my fathers fingers moving over the strings, my mother singing along with him. My sister catching fireflies, her braids flying out around her. 

That night I play as Peeta smiles at me.

And for the first time, I'm not just singing for him.

I'm singing for me too.

Something powerful pulsing through my chest. I sing everything I can think of, my bloodied fingers moving over the strings.

Because I realize now that there is no ending or beginnings in this life, like a piece of music it rises and falls, and we are helpless to stop it. So we might as well sing along.

I think of that first night with Cray, a day tainted with bruises, marring and purple. The worst decision I ever made. It was also the day that Peeta gathered the courage to speak to me. I can't bring myself to regret that, because I needed him, with his curls and dimples, his kind words and his hope. When I look up into his eyes, glittering in the dying firelight, I smile. 

He smiles back, that infuriating, dopey smile of his that brings out the dimple on his cheek. 

There is no going back.

Cray hangs in the hollows of my heart, he pulses there, I still hear his voice in the back of my mind. He'll always be here, taunting me. 

But the other voice in my head is stronger, some days its Peeta, telling me I have to keep going on, that life will get better, that it can be good again. Some days, its my own. 

So one night, after we've eaten our fill of rabbit stew and I've sang out my grief to the river, I crawl over to Peeta. I kiss him senseless, and he kisses me back, his fingers tangling in my hair.

He settles his weight on top of me, looking down at me with eyes dark blue.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. 

“Peeta, shut up.” I murmer, ignoring the thumping of my heart in my chest, quick and unsteady. I ignore the trembling in my limbs and tilt my head up, begging him to kiss him. When his finger snake inside of my shirt and brush my skin I feel something I've never felt before, a hollow keening ache, thrumming deep within my core and no matter how close Peeta is it isn't close enough.

This is a new type of hunger, both fulfilling and aching. I want it to last forever. 

Long afterward we lay entwined together, Peeta breathing heavily into my hair. My body aches and I am tired, but I lay in the dying light of the embers, listening to the quiet thumping of Peeta's heart. I try to memorize this moment, the heaviness in my limbs, the soreness in my legs. The way Peeta kisses my forehead and runs his thumb down my spine. 

“That should have been our first time.” Peeta says, sounding like he's betrayed me in some way.

“We don't have time for should haves.” I say, burrowing my nose against his bare chest that somehow still smells like vanilla and dill. 

Peeta smiles against my hair, all teeth, I can feel it. Then I remember that thing my father had begged me to remember. “Look at the light.” He pleads in my head.

I look up at Peeta, his curls mussed and his skin sticky with sweat and I smile.

All of this darkness I have welled up in me, one thing is certain.

Peeta will always be my light.

“Peeta?” I say, my voice trembling.

“Katniss?” he says, mimicking my tone lightly, his finger rubbing circles on my shoulder blade.

“I love you.” Its so quiet, as if I am afraid someone will take it away from me. Peeta gives me a smile, as good as any dandelion.

“I love you, too.” 

I look out towards the mouth of the cave and out there it is dark, the night hiding the river from me, the mountains. Its alright that the night is here, let it come with all of its heavy dark.

There will always be stars.


	26. Epilogue

Ten years later-

 

Sometimes I wake in the early morning purple and lie there, listening to Peeta breathe as he sleeps. Its so steady and even and I revel in it, marveling how after all these years he's still so solid. Sometimes in the middle of the night he grabs my hand in the dark and grasps it like he is afraid it will disappear, I let him too. 

Sometimes I think time has made things worse, not better.

There are days where I wake struggling to remember the exact shade of my sisters eyes. Some days when I am sure that I will never remember the tone of my mothers voice when she told me she loved me. 

But come hell or high water, I stand.

It's been ten years since our time by the riverside, and somehow Peeta still manages to make me smile.

He takes me for walks in the rain, and we jump in puddles like children.

He bakes me cheesebuns and feeds them to me.

He paints me pictures of those woods I love so much.

There is so much I wish to tell my sister.

I want to tell her we spent a summer healing on the riverbank. We swam and sunbathed on the shore. We collected berries and honey and mint until I wasn't just surviving anymore. 

I want to tell her that the Capitol fell.

One fall day Gale appeared from the tree line, covered in ash and soot from the district, hand in hand with Madge. Peeta and I stood at the mouth of the cave and watched as he waved and gave a crooked smile. 

 

I want to tell her that Peeta and I walked back to the district with our heads held high. Only to break down when we see that our district saw some of the worst damage in Panem. 

I want to tell her that Haymitch disappeared one night, that I hope he is somewhere, drinking away the day. I hope that he found a small measure of peace, the thing we all are looking for. 

I want to tell her Madge and Gale are married, twin little boys always underfoot, how they moved to district 4 some time ago. Madge lost her whole family in the bombings, the only reason she survived was she was out with Gale. We write letters to each other once and while, and I doubt I will ever see them again. Though I have learned never to say never. 

I want to tell her Peeta fell to his knees when he saw the burned out shell of the bakery, the only thing left a charred oven and that damned apple tree. How he crawled into a bottle afterward and nearly didn't survive it. I want to tell her he clawed his way back out, and how it took nearly all of that strength, but he survived, like we always do.

How he whispered to me in the dark. “You're all I have.” 

I tousled his curls and pressed his tear stained cheek to my chest, like a child. “And you're all I have.” I say, and then he kisses me like I am the only thing keeping him holding on.

Peeta washes the blood from the porch of my old house. I open the windows and dust, I sweep the feathers from the floor and cry. Peeta and I paint the outside a cheery yellow and he plants Primroses in the garden. 

We rebuild it together, and for a while it keeps the ghosts at bay. 

I want to tell her I see her in everything. I see her eyes looking at me from the grain of the wood. I see her standing in the kitchen laughing. I see her in the bright blue spring sky that seems endless. Sometimes, it kills me. Sometimes, it lifts me up.

But mostly I want to tell her about Cynder. My dancing little girl. 

When I found out about her, I screamed and cried to the sky. I pulled in on myself, years of old fear coming up in a single moment. Peeta found me hidden in a closet, babbling about Primroses and Cray. My head slamming against the wall in rhythm with my heart.

Like it or not, she came. 

On a cold November night, wracked with lightening and whipping rain and howling wind. 

Her hair is dark as a ravens wing. Her skin is pallid and her eyes look like the ocean on a stormy day. She scowls like me, but when she smiles, she's entirely her fathers.

And she's made of fire and light and autumn leaves, this girl of mine.

Her favorite color is purple and she talks in her sleep. 

Sometimes it fills me with fear, because I know the truth of this world.

Its a sin to have a daughter, in a world filled with violent men.

 

Its been ten years since I killed Cray. 

I was sure he killed me that night, that he laughed from his grave. 

It took a little girl to remind me that he didn't.

He couldn't.

Its still early and Peeta has me pulled against his chest. I bury my face into his neck as I hear soft footstep pad in from the next room. I can feel her watching us with sleepy eyes, her teddy bear hanging from her hand, dragging against the floor. 

“Mama.” she whispers loudly, I hear a deep groan inside Peeta's chest as he laughs.

“Cynder, your mother is sleeping.” He admonishes

“But, its her birthday!” Cynder whines. 

Peeta kisses my forehead and gets up. I snuggle up against his pillow, content to sleep in his borrowed warmth.

I hear her giggle as Peeta scoops her up and carries her out of the room on his shoulder. I can't help the smile that tugs on my lips. I try to sleep a little longer but when the scent of sugar frosting and cinnamon wafts into the room I follow my nose into the other room like a wild dog.

“Mama!” Cynder chirps, still in her pale lilac pajamas, her hair in two braids down her back. She has a mug of tea in front of her and a cupcake.

“Peeta!” I move to snatch the cupcake from Cynders plate but he beats me to it.

“Come on, Mama, its a special day.” Peeta says, his tone begging,he cocks his head to the side and gives me a playful smile and I find my resolve melting.

“Fine, only one.” I huff grumpily, sitting across from her. 

She gives me a wide grin, and a dimple forms on her cheek. For a moment it hits me like a brick in the chest. It fills me with heartache, because when she smiles at me like that she looks so much like her father, but also, she looks so much like someone else.

She walks over to me and climbs into my lap and I press her against my chest. She's here, she's real, and no one will take her away from me. At least that is what I tell myself. When this sadness as old as time takes over. 

“Its okay, Mama.” she says to me, wrapping her willowy arms around my neck. She smells like her lavender shampoo and something totally her own. I clasp her to me like she is my last hope. Its wrong, I know it, to accept comfort from my five year old. I can't help it, I hang on to her as Peeta looks on.

How will I tell her?

The questions will come and I don't know the answers.

She will learn about the war, the rebellion and she will ask about it. Will she ever know the part I played in it? She won't learn about me in her history books. The girls all across the districts that sold themselves for secrets, but maybe Peeta and I will think of a way that won't scare her to death. 

Maybe it will make her braver.

And when she can't sleep I sing to her. Songs that my father taught me, and in time I will teach her. She especially loves the valley song, ever her fathers girl. 

As far as birthdays go, this is an alright one.

Peeta and Cynder make me cupcakes for breakfast and I go out and hunt and in the evening I come home and we eat wild turkey and mashed potatoes and cheesebuns still warm from the oven. I put Cynder to bed in my old room, now covered in purple paint, looking like a new place entirely.

I find Peeta on the back porch where a few years back he made an old porch swing, just like the one his father used to have. 

I pause in the doorway, still dressed in my hunting clothes and I listen to the crickets chirp out a song as Peeta watches the stars.

“Good Evening Katniss.” Peeta says, not looking at me but up at the sky. 

“Peeta.” I say, almost formally, with the slightest tilt of my head.

A long moment goes between us where we don't say anything. I come over and sit next to him, the swing groaning under my weight. 

“What's on your mind, Peeta?” I ask him as he wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“Just thinking what the best way to ask you to dance would be.” he says with a crooked smile, that stupid smile. 

“I can't promise anything.” I say with a deadpan expression. “Its probably better if you just ask.” 

“Will you dance with me, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, looking like that boy I met so many years ago. I let out a huff and roll my eyes but I take his hand, still warm and steady, in my own.

His arm winds its way around my waist and I find myself pressing my nose against his collarbone, inhaling that sweet scent of his. When I look up I find him looking down at me with a soft expression on his face. 

“What are you thinking about?” I ask as his grip tightens around my waist. He rests his chin on my head.

“How I never thought I'd be dancing with you.” 

He twirls me around and pulls me back again. 

I smile, as something explodes in my chest, something like grief and hope, joy and loss. And when I tilt my chin upwards, silently begging for a kiss, Peeta smiles against my hair.

“Friends don't kiss, remember fox?” 

“We've never been friends.” I counter, and he knows I'm right. He chuckles and runs his thumbs over my cheekbones before he pulls me close and presses his lips against mine, slightly chapped, but soft and warm. 

“Peeta?” I whisper, pressing my face into his chest.

“Hmmm?” I feel it rumble in his chest. 

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, my voice trembles and when I look up into his eyes I expect to find two empty blue pools, but instead I find that same insistent warmth, filled with questions. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Me.” I say, my voice catching despite myself.

“Never.” his voice is hard and soft at the same time, and I know I'll ask the question again, over and over and the answer will remain the same. Still, it never hurts to ask.

I don't know where we are going, where we will be ten years from now. I do, however, know that I will take these stories with me wherever I go, and that fills me with hope and fear, grief and joy. I also know that wherever I am, Peeta will be there, so will Cynder.

Anytime the sadness threatens to consume me, I can just open my eyes.

And look at the light.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, its done. I hope it lived up to expectation.  
> Thank you all so much for reading this little story of mine.  
> You mean the world to me.


	27. Milk and Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I pull off my boots as quietly as I can and creep up in socked feet toward him, stealthily avoiding rocks and leaves. Years of hunting giving me light feet, something that seems hopeless for Peeta, who I had tried to teach but ended in a screaming match and I climbed a tree and refused to come down for two hours.
> 
> He hasn't hunted with me since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I wrote a while ago, because I can't seem to let this story go, just a bit of fluff really. It takes place sometime after the last chapter, when they are living in the cave. I Thought I'd post it here. Let me know what you think, I have a couple more so I might make a little series to go along with this story. Anyway. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Come say Hi to me on tumblr! I've been posting previews of a new story I've been working on. 
> 
> https://everafter37.tumblr.com/

Sunlight is dappled on the forest floor, ever changing as the leaves rustle in the breeze. Pine needles blanket the ground and rich green moss adorn all the boulders and rocks as far as the eye can see. My feet move noiselessly in a line, my whole being rigid as I move away from the wind. The doe I've been tracking for a better part of the morning raises her head from the pool its been drinking from and looks around, licking the sweet water from its snout. I kneel and raise my bow, lining up my shot and focusing on taking even breaths, in through my nose, pause, out of my mouth.

I release my arrow and it sails through the air, finds its mark. The deer falls, knees buckling, dead before it hits the ground. 

And I am doubled over, my eyes clenched shut as something digs into my chest. It comes to me at the most inopportune times. My fingers rake the dry dirt to either of my sides as my sister invades all the tiny crevices of my body. 

She's everywhere around me.

Whether its the smell of the soap my mother used to make, or the way the sunlight would soak her golden hair in the summer, lightening it two shades before fall. I see her everywhere, even out here, where the forest has turned to valley and the river runs wide and lazy through it. 

The thought of her still takes the breath from my chest and doubles me over just as hard as when I first heard she was gone. I feel the tears on my cheek, though it doesn't really register that I am crying.

I swipe at my face uselessly with the sleeve of my jacket and stand, taking in great heaving breaths to calm myself. 

I stare at the deer for a moment, arrow lodged in her eye, at least it was quick. Something I can't say for my sister, I wasn't there. 

I drag the deer back to the river, and I am a panting, sweaty mess by the time I make it back to our little cave.

Peeta has washed our bedroll and is drying it on a rock in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. A bucket of fish he's caught sits in the shade of a rock, and he's nowhere to be found.

“Peeta?” I croak out and almost immediately he is at the mouth of the little cave we've called home for almost a month now. The salt of my tears has long since dried on my cheeks but I still wipe at them, because Peeta is coming and I know he'll kiss me, and I don't want him to taste the tears on my face.

He gives me a crooked smile and rests his hands on his hips. “Look at you, you been rolling in the dirt?” I look down at my shirt, there is a smear of dust down the front of me and a twig caught in my braid, crumpled up dead leaves caught in my socks.

“How do you feel about venison for dinner?” I ask and his smile widens.

“I could take it or leave it.” He shrugs, and I feel my face fall slightly.

“I'm joking Miss Serious.” he says climbing down and kissing my cheek.

“Yeah well, you never were very funny.” I say, adjusting the quiver on my back.

“My sense of humor just doesn't appeal to you.” He says flatly, squatting down and examining the deer I've just drug home, a sourness digging into my gut. 

“Because you're not funny.” I grit out, pushing a sweat soaked strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear. When I finally manage to look up I see Peeta smiling at me.

“This is going to the best dinner ever.” He says, scooping me up and laughing, spinning me before dropping me back to the ground. 

“Yeah, I was getting pretty tired of squirrel myself.” I say, pulling my jacket from my shoulders and brandishing my knife to begin dressing the deer.

Peeta helps me, and I do my best to patiently explain, but we are bickering by the time its finished, I am exasperated and flushed. Peeta is a bloody mess as I storm off, entrails caught in my fingernails. 

I toss the uneatable parts out in the woods, far from our little cave, careful it won't attract wild dogs or bears. 

When I come back I am baking in my clothes, sweat staining my shirt and mingling with the deer blood. I feel positively grimy, and terribly cross with Peeta whose nice and clean, his shirt hanging next to the bedroll. He's stretched on a rock in the early evening sun, his arms and neck clean of blood and dirt, his pallid skin pink tinged and slightly sunburned. He's built a fire and has venison stew bubbling in a small pot above it. Something about the sight reminds me of home.

I feel a smile creeps up on me but I fight it down, trying to remember that I am mad at him. He hasn't spotted me, just a few feet away and I can't help but mess with him just a little, he is insufferable after all.

I pull off my boots as quietly as I can and creep up in socked feet toward him, stealthily avoiding rocks and leaves. Years of hunting giving me light feet, something that seems hopeless for Peeta, who I had tried to teach but ended in a screaming match and I climbed a tree and refused to come down for two hours.

He hasn't hunted with me since. 

 

He still hasn't noticed me as I crouch, my eyes narrowed at my prey and I can't help the playful smirk that invades my face as the muscles in my legs flex and I jump.

He's flipped me before I realize whats happened, my wrists pinned above my head by one of his large calloused hands. I writhe under him, trying to free myself.

“Well, well.” He says, clearly amused. “Whose the hunter now, little fox?” 

He opens his mouth to speak but I lean up and press my lips to his, relishing in the warmth of them, my blood crusted fingers reaching behind me I scrape up a fistful of mud and slap it against his bare chest, laughing against his lips. 

“That was incredibly rude of you, Katniss Everdeen.” He says, but I am laughing so hard I can't breathe. “You find that funny, do you.” and his fingers find a sensitive spot at my side, making me laugh harder. “Look at you, braying like a mule.”

“Stop, stop.” I manage breathlessly.

“Somebody forgot I was in wrestling did they?”

“Stop.” I manage to say smiling. My stomach sore with laughter. “Please stop.”

His fingers still, massaging the spot he was just tickling. His fingernails scraping the sensitive skin there. “Since you said please.” He says kissing a spot just beneath my ear. He moves to stand, mud caught in the hairs on his bare chest. 

He looks down at me for a moment before lunging forward and scooping me up. He pushes the hair out of my face, examining me carefully. Suddenly I feel something crackle to life in my stomach and I am trying to lean my face forward, to press his lips to mine. I need it like air, or sunlight. It soaks my very being.

He leans away from me, his curls glowing in the dying rays of sunlight. He smiles and it knocks something loose in my chest. I bury my head against his chest, pressing my wet kisses into his collarbone. 

I don't know how it happens but I am underwater and furious. I push up and surface, spitting the algae tasting water out of my mouth. 

“What the hell was that for?” I ask between sputtering coughs.

“You were dirty.” He says with a shrug, I feel my anger slowly melting, the water does feel good, cool against my sun baked skin. I am not ready for him to know I've forgiven him, however and I make a point of scowling at him. 

He comes to the waters edge and leans over it, examining the dark water with a puzzled expression. 

“What?” I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders and reaches his fingers down, trailing them through the water almost longingly. I lean back, floating myself as I watch the stars as they begin to glint in the starting of a blue-black sky. 

For a moment I feel endless.

Its just a moment, before reality comes crashing back into me and remember all thats happened, still, it was nice for a moment. 

“Do you want me to teach you?” I ask.

“What?”

“How to swim, I can teach you.” I stand to look at him and he looks skeptical, frowning slightly at the water as if its offended him. I can't help the small tinkle of a laugh that escapes my mouth. “If you want.” I say, shrugging as if I don't care.

“Naw,” he says, smiling at me. “I'm not brave like you.” I duck my head below the water and come back out with a mouthful of water, spitting it at him.

“What are you afraid you'll drown?” I ask him incredulously as he avoids the stream of water. 

“Considering I'd sink like a stone?” I nod, leaning back and stroking out a little further.

“Considering.” I say back, mimicking his tone.

“I'd say its a concern of mine.” He huffs out.

For a moment I feel a sting in my chest and I stand, the water only chest level on me. I feel my chin jut out like a small child whose toy has been taken away. 

“You think I'd let that happen?” I ask. He looks taken aback by the fierceness in my voice. The curl of my lip. He opens his mouth to answer but I dive down into the water and when I finally surface from the murky depths he's standing with his hips submerged in the water, goosebumps prickling his arms and his cool blue eyes bright and uncertain still, outshining the moon in beauty. 

I swim back to him, floating around him until he laughs and I finally stand, my clothes drenched and clinging to me like a second skin. His eyes flit down to my body for only a moment before they lock with mine and he pulls me to him, pressing his lips to mine until I am gasping for air, his fingers tangling in my braid and running his thumb along the shell of my ear.

Finally he lets me go and I stand in front of him, lips swollen, sodden braid, looking like a drowned rat. I must smell like river water and sweat. He still says it, so I am inclined to believe him, even if that sick little voice in the back of my head tells me not to.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” Its barely a whisper, more of a breath.

I just smile at him crookedly. My eyes falling downward until I am staring at the water. 

“Alright, Miss Everdeen,” He says, tilting my chin upward until I am looking at him, eye level with him. “Teach away.”


	28. Blackberry tarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primrose is gone, so is my mother and my father.
> 
> I will never see them again, and they will never see the new country being built. They will never know the feeling of being able to climb these hills without the fear of persecution. I will never take Prim into the woods, not to hunt but to show her the new fawns of spring, I will never teach her how to swim at the lake, gather the berries that her own swelling stomach craves. 
> 
> I'll never see her again.

Its morning and the district is a hollow shell of mangled metal and caved in wood. And the smell of death threatens to choke us, and when we begin to fear suffocation we do the only thing we can think of, we run. 

Madge, Peeta and I trudge through the pines and maples until we find a hillside, soft and green in the summers air, the grass swaying gently. Far off, Mockingjays twitter in the trees. Their chirps lull me into a sense of security and I find my fingers entwining with a stoic, silent Peeta next to me. 

Madge huffs next to me, her blonde sweat soaked hair stuck to the back of her neck, her hand resting on the bump of her stomach, almost protectively. She holds a pail in her other hand and it hangs limp at her side and the clanking of the tin is the only sound besides the mockingjays for miles around. 

We climb the hill and I find what we're looking for, wild blackberry bushes, overgrown in tangles all around. Madge finds a spot in the soft grass and sits with a small squeak, her stomach heavy with babies.

Peeta is looking around with eyes that contain a wildness I've never seen in him before. Its been three months since we've come home from the river. Three months since he found the burned out shell of a bakery, sitting as still as a graveyard, smoke still hanging in the air around it. 

Thom had stood a few feet from us, hat in hand and eyes cast downward as Peeta asked the only question he could.

“My family?” His voice is thick and I can see his adam's apple bobbing as he tries to swallow down a lump in his throat. I had stood back, not being able move as Thom shakes his head.

“No one in the bakery survived, Peeta.” He says quietly. 

Peeta whispers something so faint I can't understand him, then his knees give and he falls to the dirt, his soot covered hands twisting in his hair, smudging the dark dirt on his pale face. I inched forward, carefully, as if he is an injured bird. Slowly, I place a hand on his back, feeling utterly inadequate at comforting him, this is Peeta's specialty, not mine. He deserves better, its a fleeting thought that flutters in my head uselessly. 

I feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes as he looks up at me. I try to twist my face into something comforting but I feel like I fail horribly. Peeta doesn't seem to care as he reaches out and wraps his arms around my legs, burying his face in my knees and sobbing cavernously. I run my fingers through his hair, but beyond that I don't dare move a muscle. 

 

His eyes went slack when he looked up at me, almost gray in the heavy heat of the evening air. His fingers twisting the fabric of my pants. “Please don't run.” He whispers, as if he can read my thoughts. I'm not good at this, I want nothing more than to run to the safety of my woods, to the vast open sky, to the lake, still and quiet. 

“I won't.” I promise. 

He's barely left the house since, content to hide away in my little seam house. He locks himself in the shed out back for hours with a sketchpad and pencil, often leaving just after breakfast and not returning till dinner. 

And yesterday, when Madge insisted she was craving a blackberry tart I was quick to suggest Peeta for the project. 

He wasn't pleased, but eventually I talked him into tagging along, telling him the fresh air would do him a lick of good. 

He's looking unsure as he stands next to me, his hand clasping mine so tight my fingers have gone numb. I was right, he already looks less sunk in, less pale. That district is a house of ruin, I needed to take him back to the woods, home.

I take the bucket from Madge and lead Peeta away, the warm air of early fall pressing down on us. I lead him away, toward the bush, the wind tousling his curls, and his shirt billowing away from his stooped frame. 

For a long time the only sound is the berries dropping into the bucket and our ragged breathing. Peeta seems utterly focused on the task, not sparing a glance. Hours later Madge is calling for us to take a break, and with fingers stained red with berry juice, and knuckles scraped and cut from thorns, we return to where Madge has been dozing in the sunlight.

“You know, this would go faster Madge, if you helped.” I say crossly, placing the bucket at our feet and wiping the sweat from my brow.

“I'm pregnant.” She says in a playful tone, grabbing a handful of berries and shoving them into her mouth. “Anyway, I've been working on lunch.” she says. She has spread the blanket from our pack and pulled out our food. A sandwich cut into thirds, with wild turkey and sharp cheddar, a flask of ice tea to share and a tub of fiddleheads I gathered yesterday. I prefer them fried up but Madge likes them fresh, so I left them as is. 

A book sits on the edge of the blanket, I try to convince Peeta to read us a chapter but he shakes his head. 

“Oh, come on Peeta.” Madge says with a small smile, prodding him with the tip of her finger. “You've got the best voice of all of us.” She winks at me and shoves another fistful of berries in her mouth.

“If you keep going at that rate Madge, we'll be gathering berries all day.” I snap.

“Its for the baby.” she insists, smiling, the edges of her mouth stained with berry juice. At least she has the grace to look contrite for a moment. “I've been craving them for days.”

I huff as Peeta takes the book, looking at it uncertainly, running his long fingers down the spine. I take a bite of my sandwich and watch him carefully. He opens the cover and shuts it again, letting out a long sigh. He throws it and it lands with a dull thud in the grass. 

“Writers are damned liars, every single one of them.” He drops himself down next to me, so he is looking up at the endless blue sky, the puffy, white clouds, soft as cotton. Something about what he says has a ring of truth to me, I've thought the same thing many times.

 

We all fall quiet, Madge is shoving berries in her mouth. I chew thoughtfully, not sure what to say to Peeta. Peeta just stares up at the sky, looking tired, sallow. 

I reach into my pack, feeling the cufflink hidden in the folds, I finger the cool metal and pull it out. I reach out and hand it to Peeta, feeling its cool metal pressed against my sweaty palm. It gives me a moment of comfort. Then I pass it to Peeta.

He takes it gently, flipping it through his fingers softly. 

The message I am trying to convey casting a shadow over his face.

The past is a cruel place to live.

There is a long, haunting moment of silence that hangs in space between us. Then I feel him smile, just slightly. As if the sight of it is a breath of fresh air, the first drink of water to a man dying of thirst. All this time, he has had nothing of his old life. I had my house, Prim's clothing hanging in my closet, still smelling like her. I had my mothers nearly ruined garden in the back to tend. Peeta had the smoldering remains of the bakery, a graveyard in the meadow, nothing else. 

“Why do you have Rye's cufflink?” He asks. 

Our eyes meet, and for the first time in a long time I see his crinkle in amusement. I feel heat rising up to my cheeks as I turn away, saying nothing, but he tucks the cufflink in the pocket of his pants and reaches softly for my hand.

The mockingjays are above us, trilling and fluttering, falling to the ground as they hunt for seeds and worms. Before I realize what I am doing I here my voice, all smoke and husk, singing the valley song for them.

They fall into a polite silence before picking up my song and carrying with them. Its my turn to fall into a polite silence as I listen to their voices swell around me like the wind.

We are all three quiet as we listen.

Then Peeta whispers. “Thank you.” 

I'm not quite sure what he is thanking me for, I haven't done anything special, given him a piece of metal, sang a song. I just shrug my shoulders and reach my hand out for his. He takes it almost gratefully. 

“Its been a good day.” he whispers in my ear, kissing my hair.

“Yeah.” I say.

We walk back to the district, smoke still visible from miles away, I feel my chest tightening painfully, but Peeta's hand is holding mine, and the smell of him is intoxicating, I find myself leaning sideways to press my side into his. 

It hits me in a way it hasn't before.

Primrose is gone, so is my mother and my father.

I will never see them again, and they will never see the new country being built. They will never know the feeling of being able to climb these hills without the fear of persecution. I will never take Prim into the woods, not to hunt but to show her the new fawns of spring, I will never teach her how to swim at the lake, gather the berries that her own swelling stomach craves. 

I'll never see her again.

It hits me like a brick in the chest, taking all the air from my chest. 

I want to double up with the pain, but I don't, I try to look normal. After all, this was a day for Peeta. To get him out of that dusty shack and away from the white liquor bottles he stores there, that he thinks are hidden from me.

I chant it in my head.

The past is a cruel place to live. 

Its a truth hard learned and sore as a burnt tongue. 

Peeta and I drop Madge and home with half of the berries and a promise to bring her tarts tomorrow. She hugs us both and has disappeared into the small shack where Gale's family are assigned to live, shoved into the wood and corrugated metal like a tin of sardines.

I trudge up the stairs, dropping the bucket of berries at the door, pulling my hair from its braid and shaking the dust from my boots, the door has barely shut behind us as Peeta gathers me up, his fingers pressing hard into my back. He pushes me gently against the door and his kissing me with an urgency I've never felt from him.

This is a different sort of kiss, wrought with pain and need. I feel the same thing exploding from my chest and up my throat, the warmth hard pressed to be extinguished from a simple kiss. I find my arms winding around his neck, my fingers tangling in his curls. 

He lifts me easily and I feel my legs wrap themselves around his waist as I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, feeling breathless and surprisingly empty. When my eyes meet his I gasp, it's there, that wall he had put up the first time we had done this. When we were still new, and he was trying to hold me there with him.

“Don't.” I say, my voice thick as I push him away.

He releases me immediately, backing away as if I have burned him. 

“I'm sorry.” he says, swallowing and turning away from me.

A moment of silence as I try to form my thoughts. Its a little late, I feel the rejection radiating of f of him. In a moments time he'll be back in that shack with the bottles, the sketchbook he refuses to show me. I can't let that happen. I only have a second before he disappears out the back door.

“It won't be a relief.” I whisper. I think of my own aching heart, the hollow part of me where Prim used to reside. And when I speak, I find I am speaking more to myself than Peeta. “Not really, afterward, it'll all come back.”

He turns back to me, looking ashamed, his shirt still partially unbuttoned. “I know.” he says to the floorboards. 

“Afterward, you'll shut me out again.” I find my tone accusatory, scared, I realize I've been hiding my resentments from him. He's been grieving and its the one nonpunishable offense. It doesn't change the fact that these last three months I've felt abandoned. 

He's left me in this house alone with my ghosts. 

This thought leaves me feeling horribly guilty. We're both managing the best we can, but when he comes to bed, his breath sour with liquor I feel a cold dread leaking down my spine. 

“Katniss.” I don't look up, but my name on his tongue sounds like a prayer, a song, a hunger. I feel tears welling in my eyes and as I look up a vain attempt to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks. they leak from the corners, me helpless to stop it. 

I feel like the most selfish person on the planet.

“Katniss.” His voice comes out commanding, hard and my eyes shoot toward him. Tears run down my face.

There is a gaping hole of stagnant air between us. 

“I'm trying.” he whispers, his hands shaking. “I'm not brave like you.” He has said this to me before, at the river, as he stared at the green water with trepidation. “I want to be, but I'm not.” 

“But you are!” I shout, my face contorting with the weight of the words. I should have said those words then, maybe it would have made these last few months easier, if only mildly. “Just in a different way.” I end, my voice only a squeak echoing in the dark house. 

He looks at me, his head cocked to the side, studying me as if I am a painting. 

He crashes into me, and I let him, because when it comes to Peeta I am weak. He's in so much pain, I want to give him the empty comfort of myself to ebb it, even for just a moment. 

Afterward we lay entwined. The sweat on our skin cooled, his head resting on my stomach as I scrape my fingernails against his scalp soothingly. 

We're quiet, everything we needed to say has been said. I stare at the ceiling, feeling hollower than ever. I can still taste him on my tongue, feel his clasping need still clinging to my sticky skin. His breathing is beginning to even out, he's heavy in a fog of almost-sleep, his face pressed against my bare skin.

When he says it, it takes all the air from the room. 

“Katniss, I want to marry you.” I feel a weight land square in my chest, a mumbled proposal, spoken to my navel more than me. 

I feel my eyes go wide and shock settle in my swooping stomach. When I answer my voice comes out soft but cold.

“No.” I say and he looks up at me, his eyes shining in the bright moonlight. 

We are quiet a long time, finally he lays his face back down on me.

“Alright.” he whispers, his voice even but I hear the sadness there.

“You're in too much pain right now, you don't know what you want.” I say in explanation.

“I said it's alright Katniss.” He wraps his arms around me tighter. “You always were too good for me.”

Me? Too good for him? I almost laugh. 

He's never smashed someone's face in with a rock. 

I have a fleeting image of the future, bread burnt black, a fire licking at it, but it isn't a future I am seeing, its clearly the past. A rainy day, bread tossed in the mud, its crust blackened. 

Its as good as any toasting I can imagine. 

I dream of mockingjays singing in a valley far away, Peeta at my side, irrevocably broken, sobbing. 

I think that part wasn't a dream, but I can't be sure, I am lost under the fog of sleep and can't reach him. 

The next morning he is making tarts in the kitchen, his back to me, mason jars of white liquor lined up next to the sink. His shoulders are like blades against his plain white t-shirt. I don't say anything, just watch him putter around. He hasn't noticed me, I cross my arms over my chest and clear my throat loudly, he jumps a little but manages a halfhearted smile and a good morning, his eyes flit away from me quickly, like they always did at school, in the square, around town.

He turns away from me.

“What are those?” I ask, my voice gruff, hair still matted from sleep and sex. I point to the jars and he looks at them as if just noticing them. Without the hint of a smile he begins to dump them down the sink. When he is finished he looks at me.

“I'm sorry.” He says. “I've been so lost.” his bottom lip trembles under the weight of the words.

“Peeta.” I say, my voice smooth as butter. I don't understand the next words out of my mouth, they feel unreal, numbing. “My mother nearly died when she lost my father, I understand, I do.” I pause, searching for words, stumbling over my tongue, content to stay quiet the rest of my days. I don't though.

“I'll marry you.” The words come out like a frenzy.

Peeta looks at me quizzically. “Why do you look like you want to punch me in the face?” 

I ignore his attempt at a joke. 

“Quit drinking.” I snarl. “Stop shutting me out, prove to me you won't leave me alone.”

His eyes fall to the ground. 

“Then and only then, will I marry you.” 

I see the slightest hint of a smile on his face. “Promise, fox?” he asks and I nod. 

Its been a long time since I've seen his face alight. I've always thought of Peeta as my hope, my light. I didn't realize that maybe he thinks of me as his own. But I see it on his face now, a new bit of light in his eyes. I see it, even if he doesn't, a courage, fought for, and rightfully won. He can do anything he sets his mind to, I don't have a question in my head he will overcome anything he needs to. 

Those endless blue eyes land on me and I see it flickering there.

Hope. 

We still have miles to go, a new battle to face, but we will always win, as long as we have each other. 

“Can I ask you again?” he asks, his voice unsure. I look at him, puzzled. 

He ignores my stare and pulls me to him. He gets down on his knees in front of me, his eyes sliding upwards to look at my face. 

His hand is still grasping mine tightly, the other snakes up to rub my hip. “Marry me?” he says softly and I bite my lip, looking away from his stupid smile. It takes all my strength not to smile.

“You're an idiot.” I say gruffly, rolling my eyes but secretly feel a thrill of pleasure because he looks just slightly more like the old Peeta. 

“Please?” 

“Fine.” I huff. 

I open my mouth to snort out something uncomplimentary but he's kissing me, stilling my lips with his own. 

We'll be okay. I say to myself, a promise, a mantra.


End file.
